All Tomorrow's Parties

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