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 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 one hundred miles an hour down the interstate Another beer in his hand Swearing we won't be late But 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 o