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