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

Where will she go, 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 tomorrows parties?
Why silken trimmings of yesterday's gown
To all tomorrows parties?

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 tomorrows 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 tomorrows parties