Lithauania stired the fire. The heavy instrument lay in his lap. It lay there like dead animal for some hours now. Estonia and Latvia sat at the other end of the fire. Latvia had curled up against Estonia but Lithauania knew the man couldn't warm him. Around them war raged. Then he heard the heavy footsteps trough the large empty camp. He savoured them, for too many times had he been afraid when he heard them. He felt Russia stop behind him, regarding him from afar. Not daring to come near in a silent apology. It was then when Lithauania sudenly hit the strings and pulled a melancholic Melody out of the instrument. He sang in a voice raw of the cold, shaky of the emotions but still fierce, a song to beckon Ivan hither. A song to make him say a proper goodbye:
Come Ivanovichi
Play me the Balalaika
tomorow fares the Troika
and you'll be leaving me
Come Ivanovichi
Play me the Balalaika
Tomorrow fares the Troika
you'll be where we can't see
Ai ai ai all our strings you play
When the Trepak we shall dance
Wtih fire and sway
Ai ai ai Drink with us my friend
Drink with us your Vodka
Before our days are spent