In 1995, we were at the airport station, you lent me and I didn't want to give it back
That backpack is filled with souvenirs and sufferings, as well as patterns left by friction.
Your backpack makes me walk so slowly, and one day it will rot with me
Priceless, it has become familiar with my sweat, it is the ring on my shoulder
I have carried it for six and a half years. I accompany it to work every day. You lend it to me and I keep it for you.
My friends all say it looks good when it's old, but unfortunately it has nothing to do with you anymore
Your backpack is not worn out even now, but it has become the other half of my body
Your backpack is a heavy judgment on me. Why don't you return something you borrowed?