We're the house band in a hotel called Fingeland Inn
We play three, maybe four shows a night
In a huge ballroom with stained glass windows

The stage overlooks the dance floor
There'a seal of dust and discarded cigar butts
Betting slips and ritalin receipts

There's a bar with a neon vacancy light
And a jukebox that plays Walk records
Perry Como, Tom O'Connor - all the schmaltz