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Isn't it rich? |
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Are we a pair? |
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Me here at last on the ground, |
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You in mid-air. |
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Send in the clowns. |
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Isn't it bliss? |
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Don't you approve? |
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One who keeps tearing around, |
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One who can't move. |
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Where are the clowns? |
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Send in the clowns. |
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Just when I'd stopped |
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Opening doors, |
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Finally knowing |
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The one that I wanted was yours, |
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Making my entrance again |
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With my usual flair, |
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Sure of my lines, |
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No one is there. |
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Don't you love farce? |
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My fault, I fear. |
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I thought that you'd want what I want - |
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Sorry, my dear. |
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And where are the clowns? |
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Quick, send in the clowns. |
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Don't bother, they're here. |
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Isn't it rich? |
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Isn't it queer? |
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Losing my timing this late |
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In my career? |
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And where are the clowns? |
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There ought to be clowns. |
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Well, maybe next year . . . |
