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?

Why, silks and linens of yesterday's gowns

To all tomorrow's parties?

And what shall she do with Thursday's rags

When Sunday 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 is Sunday's clown

For whom none will go mourning

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