Nessie, Come Up
|2021||Best Classic Filk Song|
|2011||Best Classic Filk Song|
|2008||Best Classic Filk Song|
|2005||Best Classic Filk Song|
|2004||Best Classic Filk Song|
|2001||Best Creature Song|
|1998||Best Myth Song|
Nessie, Come Up
Copyright ©1996 Jane A. Robinson - All Rights Reserved
Used by permission
The scientist sits at his sonar, and he's scanning the lake for a sign.
His grants have run out, his future's in doubt and Nessie he never did find.
He squints at the far-off horizon and he stares at the murk below.
Three years it would seem he's been chasin' a dream, but he'd much rather die than not know.
Nessie, come up, I'm waiting...I've waited for you so long.
If you exist come out of the mist and prove that the doubters are wrong.
Awake from your sleep, rise out of the deep; my faith and belief are strong.
Ah, Nessie, I've waited so, waited so, waited so, Nessie, I've waited so long.
The tourist leans over the railing with field-glass and cam'ra in hand.
She's come all the way from Pittsburgh, PA, but Nessie don't come on command.
She's spent all the money she hoarded and she's stayed overlong at Loch Ness;
But she can't say goodbye -- there's a tear in her eye, and she'll never abandon her quest.
The tabloid reporter came scouting for scandal, sensation and dirt --
Like "Nessie Eats Child" or "Monster Goes Wild -- 6 Boats Overturned -- No One Hurt".
But the magical Loch has seduced him; at its shimmering surface he stares.
He can no longer write of the sordid and trite; his thoughts run to deeper affirs.
The lady who started the gift shop counts the money the tourists have
She sells for a fee what they came here to see, and at thirty her fortune is made.
But daily she stops be the lakeside in an out-of-the-way little place
Sayin', "Nessie, m'love, if you're ever above -- I'd like to say 'thanks' to your face!"
A blind piper came to the lakeside and he sat on his favorite rock.
He started to play, as he did ev'ry day, and it echoed out over the Loch.
Twelve Nessies rose out of the water, necks swayin' in time to the beat.
What Scot isn't stirred when the pipin' is heard? And he played 'em this melody sweet: