The earthquake hit at 6:19 with a jolt
People went running for the doorways
And for the next half minute it shook

Up on the 17th floor the sommelier was opening the wine
He knew the great hotel was solidly built
Still it must have been a miracle that nothing got spilt

Terry O'Shea got up from the Chippendale chair
Talking on the telephone
Looking perplexed, waving a hand in the air

In the great room all alone
Fifty years old today, a microdot billionaire
Putting on a party like a hollywood guy

With all the food and wine that his money could buy
The band came in arguing as usual
About nothing in particular

It always seemed to be this way
Tuning up and putting out setlists
Of all the stupid songs that musicians hate to play

Still it could be better than usual
The food looked great, it was money, not glory
So when the clock struck eight

They began the theme tune from "Love Story"
Time went by with no one arriving at all
It was just Terry and the pictures

Of dead people frowning from the wall
They didn't look very pleased
It was completely clear nobody was coming

They were all staying home with their earthquake kits
Waiting for the aftershocks to hit
Thirty decanters of wine sat ready to pour 1961 Margaux and Petrus and

Chateau Latour
Swaying in unison
Lobster and caviar, shrimp and salmon

They were all laid out with artistic flair
The waiters were already eyeing their share
Terry got up and he said, "enough"

He told the band to stop playing that dreadful stuff
Made them all come over to the table
And gave them wine that they never had dreamt of

So they worked their way through the burgundy and port
And started to relax
They discovered they had more in common than they thought

And so they went back
Over to the stand and started playing again
But this time differently

It got louder and louder and fairly insane
People heard it down in the street
It felt so good, they were smiling at each other and

The waiters all ran out covering their ears
There was plaster from the ceiling on the crystal chandeliers
Terry was dancing like a madman and waving his hands

At anything and everything
Kicking up the dust from the carpet and doing handstands
Cackling and yodeling

This was a birthday bash he hadn't anticipated
Spinning like a top in the middle of the room
While the hotel shook to a sonic boom

After a while he passed out cold on the floor
And dreamed revealing things
Then he didn't have computers anymore

Or fawning underlings
He was running through the trees on a tropical isle
No more feeling tense

In a flower pattern shirt of questionable style
It all made sense
The band went back to their homes in the Hollywood hills

Better than they'd ever felt
Waking up their sleep-addled wives with rambling tales
It didn't go down very well

But as a legacy they called a band meeting
And decided they were going to give up playing covers
From that day on they got along with one another

Terry woke up and strange as the story may seem
Though he felt terrible
He found with the dawn he could still remember his dream

So he just fell away
Nobody's seen him since
But I like to think of him
Sitting on a beach like Gauguin wearing a smile
Waiting for a brown-eyed girl, she'll be there in a while

Maybe thinking back now and then to a long ago time
The night that the band got the wine
The night that the band got the wine
The night that the band
As I understand

The night that the band got the wine