It Might As Well Be Spring

The things I used to like, I don't like any more



I want a lot of other things, I've never had before



It's just like my mamma says, I sit around and mourn



Pretending that I am so wonderful and knowing, I'm adored



I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm



I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string



I'd say that I had spring fever



But I know it isn't spring



I'm as starry eyed and gravely discontented



Like a nightingale without a song to sing



Oh, why should I have spring fever



When it isn't even spring?



I keep wishing I were somewhere else



Walking down a strange new street



Hearing words that I have never never heard



From a man, I've yet to meet



I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams



I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing



I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud



Or a Robin or a bluebird on the wing



But I feel so gay in a melancholy way



That it might as well be spring



It might as well be, might as well be



It might as well be spring