She left him at the bar table
Resting there all alone
With a cold beer there beside him
And a copy of Rolling Stone
She often called him pinky
But his real name was Bic
For a year now he had been her steady
Always ready to do his trick

He always lit up for her
And brightened up her nights
How many flicks had they seen together
How many shared cigarettes
In bed on sleepless nights

But shes out there on the dance floor
Having a good ol time
While he waited at the table
Wondering ...
If he would be left behind
She tried it once before
At a party for some guy
She left him in the corner
Forgotten and feeling discarded
Without even saying goodbye

It wasn't that pinky was jealous
He wasn't built that way
He had a job -that was his life
And he would do it to his dying day

Then she came back to the table
Bringing some guy along
They sat down - ordered a round
Lit up a smoke told an old joke
Then he used his cricket lighter
To check the watch that he wore
Saying he had another few minutes
If she'd  care to dance some more

The cricket was left on the table
Half hidden behind a pack of lucky strikes
A blue cricket and a lost pinky
There something out here she likes
But she knows they can't be together
So Bic was content to just wait
Then THAT GUY returned to the table
Putting the cricket and poor pinky in his pocket
And together now they found each other
And thats the lighter side of life.