Writers: Sondheim
Isn't it rich, are we a pair
Me here at last on the ground - you in mid-air
Send in the clowns
Isn't it bliss, don't you approve
One who keeps tearing around - and one who can't move
Where are the clowns - send in the clowns
Just when I stopped opening doors
Finally knowing the one that I wanted - was yours
Making my entrance again with my usual flair
Sure of my lines - noone is there
Don't you love a farce; my fault I fear
I thought that you'd want what I want - sorry my dear
But where are the clowns - there ought to be clowns
Quick, send in the clowns
What a suprise who could forsee
I come to feel about you what you felt about me
why only now that I see that you drifted away
What a suprise, what a kliché
Isn't it rich, isn't it queer
Losing my timing this late in my career
But where are the clowns - send in the clowns
Well maybe next year
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