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