|
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 |
|
Where did she go and what did 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 |
|
A hand-me-down dress from who knows where |
|
To all tomorrow's parties |
|
A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown |
|
Of rags and silks for costumes |
|
A chill for one who sits and cries |
|
And hides behind the door |
|
Where did she go and what did she do |
|
When midnight comes around |
|
She'll turn once more to |
|
Sunday's clown |
|
And cry behind the door |
