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
  Of rags and silks, a costume
  Fit for one who sits and cries
  For all tomorrow’s parties