In the corner of the room, sits a table
 Piled high with, guitar cases; old and new.
 You can hear your favorite filk song, if you're able
 To wait it out 'till someone else gets through.
 We've got good Kentucky whiskey on the dresser.
 We've got Irish in the crock that's on the floor.
 We've got Scotch for one whose thirst is not the lesser
 And we've emptied out the ice machines once more.
 
     Please, Mister. Please sing "Fal Morgan" again,
     And the "Tarbird" and the one about the 'Brothers'.
     Please, Mister. Please sing about Jacques Chrétien,
     And we'll drink a toast to Dorsai with the dawn.
 
 If I had a drink for every friend I see here
 And another for the ones who couldn't come,
 I swear I'd be the drunkest fan in fandom.
 In this crowd, don't you know, that's going some.
 We'll sing a song about Dorsai legends
 And the ballad of the ones who've gone before
 'Till the daylight comes a'streamin' through the windows
 And you find yourself passed out on the floor.