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.