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