Текст песни Back Hit

I'm sorry every time we meet I try to sweep you off your feet And end up drunk in the street And I know that it is fake, making promises I'll break with tomorrow's headache In my defence, it makes no sense that every friday evening We go out to drink and shout and give our lives meaning But who am I to have to try to break from the madness And be destroyed by those annoyed I've escaped from the sadness?