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
Where will she go, 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 silken trimmings of yesterday's gown
To all tomorrow's parties?
What shall she do with Thursday's rags
When Monday 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