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...