All Tommarrow's Parties
And what costume shall the poor girl wear,
To all tommarrow's parties?
A hand-me-done dress from who knows where,
To all tommarrow'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 tommarrow'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 silk, a costume.
Fit for one who sits and cries,
For all tommarrow's parties.
