Letras:Velvet Underground. 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 shall she go and what will 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

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 shall she go and what will 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
A hand-me-down dress from, who knows, where
To all tomorrow's parties

And where shall she go and what will 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
And silks and linens of yesterdays' 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

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 shall she go and what will 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

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 shall she go and what will 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
A hand me down dress from, who knows, where
To all tomorrow's parties

And where shall she go and what will 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 child?
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
A Thursday's child who's 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

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 shall she go and what will 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

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 shall she go and what will she do?

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 shall she go and what will 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 shall 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