I quit smoking a few years ago now, but some scars never heal.
Last Sunday evening I was drinking with a friend
Leanin’ on the bar and sippin’ slow
Tender from the night before but slowly on the mend
Chasin’ down that misty bourbon glow
I felt the callin’ of those soft-pack Stuvy Lights
He bought a deck of Winfield Blue
I said “Hey, pardner, I don’t wanna start no fights,
But there’s somethin’ there that don’t belong to you.”
For it was my lighter on the top of his pack
My doggone lighter, man, I want that baby back
You took away my lighter, have you got no sense of shame?
Won’t you please give back my old flame?
Once I was sure of it, I looked him in the eye
To me his guilt was plain to see
He brushed it off and spoke so softly with a sigh
He said “Lighters move, and she moved on to me.”
My jaw just hit the floor, I could not speak a word
Through blurry eyes, man, I could see
Her perfect body with his fingers curled around
And his thumb down on the wheel of ecstasy
It was my lighter, but he lit his cigarette
My doggone lighter, man, my eyes were growing wet
Size and shape and colour with the Hallam Hotel name
Won’t you please give back my old flame?
Three long months later I confronted him again
He lit a match and drew a sigh
He said “She’s gone, my friend, where all good lighters go,
Departed to that glovebox in the sky.”
But it was my lighter, and it was not her time to die
My doggone lighter that he cranked up way too high
I know he thought of it as all some kind of game
But I shed a tear for my old flame.