| 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 |