The things I used to like
I don't like anymore
I want a lot of other things
I've never had before
It's just like mother says
I sit around and mope
Pretending I am wonderful
And knowing I'm a dope
I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm
I'm as jumpy as puppet on a string
I'd say that I had spring fever
But I know it isn't spring
I am starry eyed and vaguely 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 some where else
Walking down a strange new street
Hearing words that I've never heard
From a girl I've yet to meet
I'm as busy as spider spinning daydreams
I'm as giggy as a baby on a swing
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud
Or a robin on the wing
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way
That it might as well be spring
It might as well be spring
I keep whishing I was some where else
Walking down a strange new street
Hearing words that I've never head
From a girl I've yet to meet
I'm as busy as spider spinning daydreams
I'm as giggy as a baby on a swing
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud
Or a robin on the wing
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way
That it might as well be spring
It might as well be spring
