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'll turn 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 in Sunday's clown For whom none will go mourning A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown Of rags and silk, a costume Fit for the one who sits and cries For all tomorrow's parties