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...
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