For me, the European town is like a rose in front of my lover, and it is a paradise I yearn for infinitely. It has no noise in new york, no poverty in Sudan, and no terror in Afghanistan. There are ancient bell towers, vast wheat fields, melodious violins and ethereal bagpipes. If you walk in the street, you can also feel the bustle of Manhattan, but it's different, because the air in the town is filled with the milk smell of spring croissants, which Manhattan can't do anyway.
Holding your breath, listening to Declan's Danny Boy, you will unconsciously stare at it, feeling as if you are in a quiet pasture in Ireland, with a snowy valley in the distance, delicate roses at your feet and elegant and fresh violets in front of you, as if the century clock was incredibly confused by emptiness. When you find that this is not true, there is a lingering sadness: this feeling is like coffee with sugar, bitter but sweet. At the end of the last sentence: "I love you so much." Add another sweetness. You can feel the artistic conception directly without looking at the lyrics. This is a wonderful taste.