Where Words Fail, Music Speaks.

But The Emperor Has Nothing At All On!

Everything You Look At Can Become A Fairy Tale And You Can Get A Story From Everything You Touch.

Farewell, Farewell," Said The Swallow, With A Heavy Heart, As He Left The Warm Countries, To Fly Back Into Denmark. There He Had A Nest Over The Window Of A House In Which Dwelt The Writer Of Fairy Tales. The Swallow Sang "tweet, Tweet," And From His Song Came The Whole Story.

He Looked At The Little Maiden, And She Looked At Him; And He Felt That He Was Melting Away, But He Still Managed To Keep Himself Erect, Shouldering His Gun Bravely. A Door Was Suddenly Opened, The Draught Caught The Little Dancer And She Fluttered Like A Sylph, Straight Into The Fire, To The Soldier, Blazed Up And Was Gone! By This Time The Soldier Was Reduced To A Mere Lump, And When The Maid Took Away The Ashes Next Morning She Found Him, In The Shape Of A Small Tin Heart. All That Was Left Of The Dancer Was Her Spangle, And That Was Burnt As Black As A Coal.

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.