All Tomorrow's Parties

And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To 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
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?
White silks and linens of yesterday's gowns
To all tomorrow's parties
And what will she do with Thursday's rags
And what will she do with Thursday's rags
When Monday comes around?
When Monday comes around?
(And what will she do with Thursday's rags)
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
(When Monday comes around?)
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door
(She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown) and cry behind the door
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 no one will go mourning
A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown
Of rags and silks, a costume
Fit for one who sits and cries
Fit for one who sits and cries
For all tomorrow's parties
For all tomorrow's parties
For all tomorrow's parties
For all tomorrow's parties
For all tomorrow's parties
For all tomorrow's parties
For all tomorrow's parties