[b]As he lights an American spirit He asks how I can smoke such shit I say there's nothing like chain smoking GPC cigarettes 'Cause any smokes will kill ya But these will make you feel like it.[/b] I sit back down, on the parking lot curb And remember back to February The trip to Hartford. When five minutes ago He was passed out on the staircase Trying to walk to his apartment but not making it all the way. And now he's driving us 100 miles an hour down the interstate Another beer in his hand Swearin' we won't be late. That was before everyone moved to New Mexico They all left a couple of months ago Until the day my friend When I sleep on the floor of your van again I'll be waiting in this parking lot And in my dreams, I am dirty broke, beautiful, and free My hands clenched in a fist, and my face in a smile, after hitching too many miles. We aren't revolutionaries, but we are the revolution. And sometimes I think that the whole movement, it's just me and you And maybe we'd all be better off if that were true 'Cause then at least we'd know where we stand And we could tell our comrades apart from the man But if the world isn't that simple Maybe this town is at least And if I'm not marching with them to war, I'm sure not marching with you for peace Class traitor? What -blam!-ing ever! I'm just another middle class kid, too. But if I'm not good at changing, I'm good at self loathing So I'll class hate myself with you. May our only occupation be not having a job And may the only cocktails that we make be molotov May that day be now, and for as many days after that as we know how It starts in this parking lot, and in my dreams, I am dirty broke, beautiful, and free. My hands clenched in a fist, and my face in a smile, after hitching too many miles.