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(l. reed) |
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And what costume shall the poor girl wear |
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To all tomorrow's parties |
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A hand-me-down dress from who knows where |
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To all tomorrow's parties |
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And where will she go and what shall she do |
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When midnight comes around |
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She'll turn once more to sunday's gown |
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And cry behind the door |
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And what costume shall the poor girl wear |
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To all tomorrow's parties |
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Why silks and plumes of yesterday's gowns |
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To all tomorrow's parties |
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And what shall she do with thursday's rags |
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When monday comes around |
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She'll turn once more to sunday's clown |
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And cry behind the door |
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And what costume shall the poor girl wear |
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To all tomorrow's parties |
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For thursday's child is sunday's clown |
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For whom none will go mourning |
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A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown |
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Of rags and silks, a costume |
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Fit for one who sits and cries |
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For all tomorrow's parties |
