I’ve been asked a few times after performing original filk in public if I’ve posted the lyrics anywhere. Also, I know firsthand how frustrating it is when filk songs are hard to find online (or even unavailable except in analog form) and the barrier it creates for new filkers. So in the spirit of doing as I would like others to do, I’ve created this page for my own filk lyrics. More to come–including, someday, the Robin Hood song to the tune of “Barrett’s Privateers” that I’m still surprised doesn’t yet exist.


O Come, O Great Pumpkin (to the tune of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”)

O listen, trick-or-treaters all, so ghoulish to be seen
Remember the Great Pumpkin will arrive on Halloween
And in this very pumpkin patch the faithful will convene
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight, come tonight,
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight

I’ll be right here to meet him, I’ll await his drawing near
I’m sure of every pumpkin patch ours is the most sincere
And though I’ve never seen him, I’m sure this will be the year
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight, come tonight,
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight

My friends all think I’m crazy and they say so to my face
My sister is ashamed of me and calls me a disgrace
Please prove them wrong, Great Pumpkin, by appearing in this place
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight, come tonight,
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight

And now it’s nearly half past one on this All Hallows Eve
I crouch among the pumpkins and I struggle to believe
And still the one I wait for is nowhere to be perceived
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight, come tonight,
O come, O Great Pumpkin, come tonight


NaNoWriMo Like the Wind (to the tune of “Write Like the Wind” by Paul and Storm)

Now it’s November, so write and write faster
Your novel won’t finish itself while you wait
Just thirty days until you reach the deadline
And never mind last time you showered or ate
So WriMos, write like the wind!

I curse the day that my friend ever told me
About this event where you write 50k
Only a month, but it’s easy to do it
If you can write one-six-six-seven a day

Now every year I conceive a new novel
And swear that this time I can keep up the pace
Yet every November I seem to hit roadblocks
And desperately flail till I finish the race

Why do I come back every year?
At this point it’s not really clear

It’s mid-November, so write and write faster
And mainline caffeine when you can’t stay awake
Put off your chores and live solely on takeout
And cancel all plans on your Thanksgiving break
So WriMos, write like the wind!

I should have planned this way back in October
My characters seem to have wills of their own
What happens next and where is this plot going?
If I’d made an outline then I might have known

I sit up late hunching over my laptop
And stare at the screen till my vision is blurred
I thought I could do this, but it’s not so easy
When you’re running short twenty thousand damn words!

And now it’s turned day twenty-eight
Oh why did I procrastinate?

It’s still November, so write and write faster
Don’t worry ’bout plot holes or prose style or plans
Rack up the word count, and don’t check your spelling
And just keep on typing as fast as you can
Yes, WriMo, write–

It’s NaNoWriMo, so write and write faster,
Until it’s December, just write like the wind!

Ophelia (to the tune of “Cecilia” by Simon & Garfunkel)

Third place in Doom, Gloom, and Despondency song contest, Arisia 2019

Ophelia, you’re breaking my heart
You know something’s rotten in Denmark
Oh Ophelia, to a nunnery go
It’s prob’ly much safer than here

Ophelia, your father is dead
They say he was stabbed by your boyfriend
Oh Ophelia, they’re driving you mad
Your state is so sad to behold
To behold

With an armful of dead plants
Poor Ophelia wanders in a trance
Handing weeds to the queen and king
As she wanders the Elsinore hallways she’ll sing:

And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
No, no, he is dead:
Go to thy death-bed:
He never will come again.

Ophelia, you’ve wandered away
You’re wading right into the water
Oh Ophelia, you won’t float for long
You’ll sing one last song as you sink
As you sink

In the willow brook she’s drowned
Now they come to lay her in the ground
Hamlet comes to see the rite
Then he springs at Laertes and gets in a fight

Ophelia, they’ve jumped in your grave
Why can’t they behave through your fun’ral
Oh, Ophelia, oh sweets to the sweet
May angels sing thee to thy rest
To thy rest

Oh ho ho ho ho, oh ho ho ho ho ho ho

Then they forget you
You’re not mentioned again
They’re too busy killing each other
When it’s over
And everyone’s dead
You’ll come take your bow at the end
At the end

Orient Express (to the tune of “Wabash Cannonball”)
Winner of songwriting contest at ConCertino 2018, on the theme “Clues”

He got on board at Stamboul that fateful winter’s day
Hoping for a peaceful journey and one without delay
So what a shock to waken from a night of little rest
To hear there’d been a murder on the Orient Express

A dozen shifty passengers and contradicting clues
It’s tricky to determine just whom we should accuse
Before this journey’s over we’ll get someone to confess
That they committed murder on the Orient Express

A half-burnt piece of paper gives Poirot a vital name
And leads him one step closer to concluding who’s to blame
Poor Daisy’s senseless killing and her family’s distress
Were motive for the murder on the Orient Express


The suspects all have secrets and aren’t all who they claim
Mr. Hardman’s a detective and the Countess changed her name
And Mary knows the Colonel–oh, how are we to guess
Which one might be the killer on the Orient Express?


Now one by one deductions have discounted every clue
The kimono’s a red herring and the handkerchief is too
It seems a baffling mystery till the Belgian cries “Success!
I’ve puzzled out the murder on the Orient Express.”

Final chorus
A dozen clever passengers colluding as a team
An almost perfect murder till Poirot exposed their scheme
The way the killing happened was impossible unless
They all committed murder on the Orient Express

So here’s to Aggie Christie, one and only Queen of Crime
Who’s given us a classic that has stood the test of time
She set us up a puzzle like a fiendish game of chess
And dared us solve the murder on the Orient Express


Temp Torment Blues (to the tune of “Sixteen Tons”)
Credit for the concept goes to Christopher Lockheardt, who originally wrote it as a short play that I appeared in.

Prometheus spends his days chained to a rock
But everyone gets some time off the clock
He’s due for vacation, and while he’s away
It’s me that’s chained to the rock each day

Chained to a rock and what do I get?
Minimum wage toward my student debt
An eagle eats my liver, but I can’t fuss
I’m the temp subbing in for Prometheus

I majored in Classics and I did great
At Summa Cum Laude I’d graduate
But then the economy proved unkind
I had to take any job I could find

It seemed my skills were out of date
So my resume had to exaggerate
Being bound to a wheel, rolling a boulder,
Bearing the whole world on my shoulders

I offered to file or make some calls
But they said it was the torment or nothing at all
So while I can’t say I’m not annoyed
At least it still beats being unemployed!