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 will 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