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 gown And cry behind the door And what costume shall the poor girl wear To all tomorrow's parties Why silks and plumes of yesterday's gowns To all tomorrow's parties And 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
