Where Words Fail, Music Speaks.

Each Soldier Was The Living Image Of The Others, But There Was One Who Was A Bit Different. He Had Only One Leg, For He Was The Last To Be Cast And The Tin Had Run Out. Still, There He Stood, Just As Steadfast On His One Leg As The Others On Their Two; And He Is The Tin Soldier We Are Going To Hear About.

It Is Out Of Reality That The Most Peculiar Tale Of All Is Born ... Some Call Me The Elder Granny, Others - The Dryad, But My Real Name Is Memory. It Is I Who Sits On A Tree That Keeps On Growing, And Growing, It Is I Who Reminisces And Tells Stories.

I Have Gone Through The Most Terrible Affair That Could Possibly Happen; Only Imagine, My Shadow Has Gone Mad; I Suppose Such A Poor, Shallow Brain, Could Not Bear Much; He Fancies That He Has Become A Real Man, And That I Am His Shadow.

Every Town, Like Every Man, Has Its Own Countenance; They Have A Common Likeness And Yet Are Different; One Keeps In His Mind All Their Peculiar Touches.

Each Soldier Was The Living Image Of The Others, But There Was One Who Was A Bit Different. He Had Only One Leg, For He Was The Last To Be Cast And The Tin Had Run Out. Still, There He Stood, Just As Steadfast On His One Leg As The Others On Their Two; And He Is The Tin Soldier We Are Going To Hear About.