Is - n't it rich? Aren't we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground, and you in mid-air --
Send in the clowns.
Is - n't it bliss? Don't you approve?
One who keeps tear - ing around, and one who can't move.
But 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 -- no one is there.
Don't you love farce? My fault, I fear;
I thought that you'd want what I want - sorry my dear.
But where are the clowns? Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother, they're here.
Is - n't it rich? Is - n't it queer,
Los - ing my tim - ing this late in my career?
But where are the clowns? There ought to be clowns...
Well, maybe next year.

Composição: Stephen Sondheim