All Tomorrow's Parties

And what costume shall the poor girl wear To all tomorrow's parties? A hand me down dress from who knows where To all tomorrow's parties And where will she go and what shall she do When midnight comes around? She turned once more to Sunday's clown And cry behind the door And what costume shall the poor girl wear To all tomorrow's parties? Why silks and linens of yesterday's gowns To all tomorrow's parties? And what will she do with Thursday's rags When Monday comes around? She turned once more to Sunday's clown And cry behind the door And what costume shall the poor girl wear To all tomorrow's parties? For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown For whom none will go mournin' A blackened shroud, a hand me down gown Of rags and silks, a costume Fit for one who sits and cries For all tomorrow's parties