The fans have gathered 'neath bright ballroom lights,
To sing of strange planets and rockets in flight.
The bar overheard us -- they've closed for the night.
They can't take the sound of our singing.
Chorus:
So belt out what ever note suits you,
The rest will join in, each one in his own key.
And its fare-ye-well all vestige of harmony,
All of the filkers are singing.
When the singalongs start in this gathering of friends
The hotel staff screams, "Dear God, when will it end?"
The drunks and the tone-deaf add spice to the blend
Of what we have the gall to call singing.
So belt out what ever note suits you,
The rest will join in, each one in his own key.
And its fare-ye-well all vestige of harmony,
All of the filkers are singing.
Our bloodshot eyes clash with the pink morning sun,
It's one hell of a night once the singing's begun.
Yet for some reason they claim it is fun
When everyone's gathered for singing.
So belt out what ever note suits you,
The rest will join in, each one in his own key.
And its fare-ye-well all vestige of harmony,
All of the filkers are singing.
Some filk for dishonor, some filk for dismay,
But we are the trufen and filking's our way.
It's a strange life we live, but you never can say
that you went to a con with no singing
So belt out what ever note suits you,
The rest will join in, each one in his own key.
And its fare-ye-well all vestige of harmony,
All of the filkers are singing.