THE FILKSONG

(TUNE: "The Palace")

When I was a fan and a filker,
Creator of songs grave and light,
I wrote down the scheme for a filksong,
Such as a fan might write.
Then I turned o'er the torn scrap of paper,
On which I had jotted my note,
And found there the tune of a filksong,
Such as a fan had wrote.

I couldn't make sense of the structure;
Nothing would rhyme or would scan.
Hither and thither and aimless
Melodic phrases ran.
But every six lines came a chorus,
And 'neath it this couplet sat--
"After me cometh a filker:
Tell him, I too sang flat."

I picked up my pen and my blockpad,
I tried out the chords and the tune,
And then came a voice from the doorway:
"The con will be ending soon.
The third book has gone to the printers,
They're turning down songs for the fourth;
Whatever you write that's a filksong,
It's no use at all to Ms. North."

I put down my pen and my blockpad,
I rose like a man in a dream.
I left there the torn scrap of paper
On which I had written my scheme:
But I wrote under every chorus,
In capitals firm and clear--
"After me cometh a filker:
	Tell him, (spoken) there are invisible video cameras trained on this piece of paper and if he should take it away or pick it up or even think of trying to copy down one note of it then a hidden mechanism will switch on an ultra-violet beam which will strike the paper and activate a tailored virus which will dissolve his nervous system starting with his writing hand and--
	(sung) well, you get the idea."