It was a birthday gift
  of a Mexican Telecaster
  And from this day on I will play along
  to all my young pioneers records
  And there will be a poetry spoken silently between me and the stereo
  I'll work mornings
  and you can work through the night
  Mary, there is no hope for us
  If this GM van don't make it
  across the state line
  we might as well lay down and die
  Because if Florida takes us
  we're taking everyone down with us
  Where we're coming from (yeah)
  will be the death us
  And I cannot help but hold on
  to a handful of times
  when what was spoken
  was a revolution in itself,
  and what we were doing
  was the only thing that mattered
  And how good it felt
  to kill the memory of nights spent
  holding your shirt for the smell
  I heard you used to cry
  when you made love to him
  but this band will play on
  Because all we can do is what we've always done. And on and on and on...
    Thanks to Jimmy the Hand (aeschlynn@yahoo.com) for these lyrics