| The earthquake hit at6 19 with a jolt
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| People went running for the doorways
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| And for the next half minute it shook
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| Up on the 17th floor the sommelier wasopening the
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| Wine
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| He knew the great hotel was solidly built
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| Still it must have been a miracle thatnothing got spilt
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| Terry O’Shea got up from the Chippendale chair
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| Talking on the telephone
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| Looking perplexed waving a hand in the air
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| In the great room all alone
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| Fifty years old today, a microdot billionaire
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| Putting on a party like a Hollywood guy
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| With all the food and wine that his money could buy
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| The band came in arguing as usual
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| About nothing in particular
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| It always seemed to be this way
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| Tuning up andputting out setlists
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| Of all the stupid songs that musicians hate to play
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| Still it could be better than usual
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| The food looked great and it was money not glory
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| So when the ]clock struck eight
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| They began the theme] from Love Story
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| Time went by with no one arriving at at all
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| It was just Terry and the pictures
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| Of dead people frowning from the wall
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| They didn’t look very pleased
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| It was completely clear nobody was coming
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| They were all staying home with their earthquake kits
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| Waiting for thge aftershocks to hit
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| Thirty decanters of wine sat ready to pout
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| 1961 Margaux and Petrus and Chateau Latour
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| Swaying in unison
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| Lobstrer and caviar shrimp and salmon
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| They were all laid out with artistic flair
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| The waiters were already eyeing their share
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| Teryy got up and he said Enough
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| And told the band to stop playing that dreadful stuff
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| He made them all come over to the table
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| And gave them wine that they had never dreamt of
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| So they worked their way through the burgundy and port
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| And started to relax
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| They discovered thay had more in common than they thought
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| And so they went back
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| Over to the stand and started playing again
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| But this time differently
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| It got loud and louder and fairly insane
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| People heard it down in the street
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| It felt so good, they were smiling at each other
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| The waiters all ran out covering their ears
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| There was plaster from the ceiling on the crystal chandeliers
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| Terry was dancing like a madman andwaving his hands
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| At anything and everything
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| Kicking up the dust from the carpet and doing handstands
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| Cackling and yodeling
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| This was a birthday bash he hadn’t anticipated
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| Spinning like a top in the middle of the room
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| While the hotel shook to a sonic boom
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| After a while he passed out cold on the floor
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| And dreamed revealing things
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| Then he didn’t have computers anymore
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| Or fawning underlings
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| He was running through the trees on a tropical isle
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| No more feeling tense
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| In a flower pattern shirt of quetionable style
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| It all made sense
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| The band went back to their homes in the Hollywood hills
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| Better than they’d ever felt
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| Waking up their sleep-addled wives with rambling tales
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| It didn’t go down very well
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| But as a legacy they called a band meeting
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| And decided they were going to give up playing covers
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| From that day on they got along with one anothoer
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| Terry woke up and strange as the story may seem
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| Though he felt terrible
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| He found withthe dawn he could still remember his dream
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| So ge just fell away
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| Nobody’s seen him since
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| But I like to think of him
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| Sitting on a beach like Gaugin wearing a smile
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| Waiting for the brown-eyed girl, she’ll be there in a while
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| Maybe thinking back now and then to a long ago time
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| The night that the band got the wine
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| The night that the band got the wine |