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 gown
And cry behind the door

And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow´s parties
Why silks and plumes of yesterday´s gowns
To all tomorrow´s parties

And what shall 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