Do you know the classic song, “The Faraway Place”, well, you must, of course.

在那遥远的地方
有位好姑娘
人们走过了她的帐房
都要回头留恋地张望

她那粉红的小脸
好像红太阳
她那美丽动人的眼睛
好像晚上明媚的月亮

我愿流浪在草原
跟她去放羊
每天看着那粉红的小脸
和那美丽金边的衣裳

在那遥远的地方
有位好姑娘
人们走过了她的帐房
都要回头留恋地张望

我愿做一只小羊
跟在她身旁
我愿她拿着细细的皮鞭
不断轻轻打在我身上

我愿她拿着细细的皮鞭
不断轻轻打在我身上

I thought I knew this song (of course, I must) but it turns out only the first verse, and its humble melody, have been echoing in my mind all this time, taking the place of the entire song, which has a whole place and world to offer, and the writer's gentle devotion. In the end, that is what memory does: giving us the illusion of understanding when all we had was a single peephole to spy upon an undiscovered country.

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