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
