All Tomorrow'S Parties

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?
For Thursday's child in Sunday's clown
For whom none will go mourning

A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown
Of rags and silk, a costume
Fit for the one who sits and cries
For all tomorrow's parties