All Tomorrow's Parties
And what costume shall the poor girl wearTo all tomorrow's partiesA hand-me-down dress from who knows whereTo all tomorrow's parties
And where will she go and what shall she doWhen midnight comes aroundShe'll turn once more to Sunday's clownAnd cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wearTo all tomorrow's partiesWhy silks and linens of yesterday's gownsTo all tomorrow's parties
And what will she do with Thursday's ragsWhen Monday comes aroundShe'll turn once more to Sunday's clownAnd cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wearTo all tomorrow's partiesFor Thursday's child is Sunday's clownFor whom none will go mourning
A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gownOf rags and silks, a costumeFit for one who sits and criesFor all tomorrow's parties