Isn't it rich?
Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground
And you in mid-air
Send in the clowns
Isn't it bliss?
Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around
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
No one is there
Don't you love farce?
My fault, I fear
I thought that you want what I want
Sorry, my dear
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns
Don't bother
They're here
Isn't it rich?
Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late
In my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns
Well maybe
Next year
Writer(s): Stephen Sondheim
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