Frollo:
Gringoire where has your lady gone? I never see her dance at Notre dame.
Gringoire:
I don't really know where she has gone, priests and poets are not one.
In women I see love; the church puts them below and my poems above.
Frollo:
Where is she, your Esmeralda? The small Paris streets can't sing without her song.
Gringoire:
She's alone in a tower of stone, far from those who fear all her powers unknown.
Frollo:
Poet what do you say, is it this or that way?
Do not use your words to play, have you seen her today?
Clopin:
Where is she my Esmeralda? The kingdom I rule has lost all its splendour.
Gringoire:
She is like a swallow of spring, that someone has caught and tied down the wings.
Gringoire:
She is there in the prison called la-Sonte.
If she can't get away that is where she will stay, until she is hung.
Clopin:
You need tell me no more.
Frollo, Clopin & Gringoire:
Where is she your Esmeralda?
The small Paris streets can't sing without her song.
She is like a swallow of spring, that someone has caught and tied down the wings
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