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In 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
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
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
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
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These guys just hit such unbelievable lows and rather than kill themselves -- they made music telling tales from the other spectrum of life. I just can't get over how thankful I am to their music -- it isn't necessarily offering solutions but more, bringing these mentalities to the surface. Superficiality is so, so far away from their music -- it is so fucking REAL.
They should have just killed themselves and spared us.<br /> Then we would have had more time to listen to Handel's Messiah. <br /> Now THERE's real underground rock.
Nobody never stopped you from listening to whatever you prefer. Maybe you'd have more time to listen to Handel if you didn't waste so much time whining. Many positive things can be said about The Messiah (and other great oratorios of the 17th century), but it is neither rock nor underground. Name-dropping combined with making a preposterous claim is destined to fail rather pathetically to fulfil your desperate desire to convince somebody out there that (contrary to all appearances) you're actually clever and deep.
V.U. just SUCK - gosh, SOMEONE has to say it !