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
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