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

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, the 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, the Sunday clown

For whom no one will go mourning

A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down god

Of rags and silks, a costume

Fit for one of Satan's brides

For all tomorrow's parties