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As he lights an American Spirit, he asks how I can smoke such shit

I say there's nothing like chain smoking GPC cigarettes
Because any smokes will kill ya but these will make you feel like it

I sit back down on the parking lot curb
And remember back to February, the trip to Hartford
With five minutes to go, 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, swearing 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 is just me and you
And that maybe we'd all be better off if that were true

Because 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 fucking 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
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

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