clopin clopant

in france when one is walking sadly

they say he walks clopin clopant

his step is slow

his fault is badly

perhaps the one he loves is gone

clopin clopant i hear his footsteps

as in the night he passes by

and as i hear his endless footsteps

i get to thinking they'll go out

i'll go along clopin clopant

whispering he's gone

he is gone

he is gone

my childish heart cries like a baby

without my love what will each day be?

so i go on clopin clopant

trudging alone clopin clopant

love is a dance and one must learn it

i had my chance

why did i spurn it?

what can i do? why carry on?

going alone clopin clopant

clopin clopant

clopin clopant.