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 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
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
