"Isn't it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, and you in midair. Send in the clowns. Isn't it bliss? Don't you approve, one who keeps tearing around and one who can't move? Where are the clowns? Send in the clowns. Just when I stopped opening doors, finally finding the one that I wanted was yours. Making my entrance again with my usual flair, sure of my lines, nobody's there. Don't you love the farce. My fault I fear. I thought that you'd want what I want ­ sorry my dear. Where are the clowns? Send in the clowns. Don't bother. They're here. Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer, losing my timing this late in my career? But where are the clowns? Send in the clowns. Well maybe next year."