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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 where will she go and 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 tomorrow's parties |
|
Why 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 |
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Of rags and silks, a costume |
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Fit for one who sits and cries |
|
For all tomorrow's parties |
