all tomorrows parties

And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrows parties
A hand-me-down dress from who knows where
To all tomorrows parties
And where will she go and what shall she do
When midnight comes around
Shell turn once more to
Sundays clown
And cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrows parties
Why silks and linens of yesterdays gowns
To all tomorrows parties
And what will she do with yesterdays rags
When Monday comes around
Shell turn once more to
Sundays clown
And cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrows parties
For Thursdays child is
Sundays 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 tomorrows parties