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...