It Might as Well Be Spring

The things I used to like, I dont like any more
I want a lot of other things, Ive never had before
Its just like my mamma says, I sit around and mourn
Pretending that I am so wonderful and knowing, Im adored

Im as restless as a willow in a windstorm
Im as jumpy as a puppet on a string
Id say that I had spring fever
But I know it isnt spring

Im as starry eyed and gravely discontented
Like a nightingale without a song to sing
Oh, why should I have spring fever
When it isnt 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, Ive yet to meet

Im as busy as a spider spinning daydreams
Im as giddy as a baby on a swing
I havent 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