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 what will she goes and where shall she go 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?
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