You don't bring me flowers
You don't sing me love songs
The flowers on the windowsill were long wilted, and there was dust on the piano keys. She longed to clean them off, to make the piano ready to play again…

You hardly talk to me anymore
when you come through the door at the end of the day
But she knew he wouldn't play for her. He was too tired, this late in the war, and she knew that what she was about to do would hurt him more than any physical wound.

I remember when…you couldn't wait to love me
Used to hate to leave me
She almost regretted it. She'd lived in this house for hundreds of years, first as his maidservant, and later as his wife.

Now after lovin' me, late at night
When it's good for you, and you're feelin' all right
It had been difficult for them to trust each other at first—he was the young lord of a budding empire; she, a reformed tomboy from the steppes. But they'd achieved it, and it had worked.

Well, you just roll over and turn out the light
You don't bring me flowers anymore.
Then, somehow, it had gone. Don't believe that she didn't still love him. But the war had shattered everything—families, art, the economy—and she, like her people, had realized that the world wasn't what they wanted it to be. She couldn't protect him anymore.

It used to be so natural
to talk about forever
They'd had such a wonderful little family, the two of them and their territories. Hungary had enjoyed being a mother; having never had one, she'd been surprised at how naturally it came to her.

But used-to-bes don't count anymore
They just lay on the floor till you sweep them away
But the children had gone. Holy Rome, dead long before the war; Czech, Slovak, and dear little Italy, all gone to their own homes. The house was always silent now, and dust lay thick in the empty rooms.

And, baby, I remember
all the things you taught me
She collected her bags and made one last circuit of the house, savoring the memories.

I learned how to laugh
and I learned how to cry
Through the kitchen, where Austria had surprised her one evening by offering to do the dishes; from the window, she could see the driveway, and the place where Italy had said farewell to Holy Rome.

Well, I learned how to love
I even learned how to lie
Back through the parlor, past the silent dusty piano, and the window she'd once caught France spying at. That had led, however indirectly, to the decision she was making today.

So you'd think I could learn how to tell you goodbye
You don't bring me flowers anymore.
She left finally, in a hurry to be gone before Austria came back. At the end of the driveway, she met America, who drove her in silence to her new border.

"Welcome home, Hungary," he said as he handed her the key to her house.

She sighed as he drove away. Home…that's what it would have to be.

Well, you'd think I could learn how to tell you goodbye
'Cause you don't say you need me
You don't sing me love songs
You don't bring me flowers anymore.

…

A/N: Link to a fabulous video of Neil Diamond and Barbara Streisand singing this song: http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch? v=wj10EzNKA2M Excuse the hairstyles.