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...