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