The things I used to like
I don't like anymore
I want a lot of other things
I never had before
It's just like mother says
I sit around and moan
Pretending I'm wonderful
And knowing I'm a dope
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 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
somewhere else
Walking down a strange
new street
Hearing words
that I have never heard
from a girl 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 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 wishing I were
somewhere else
Walking down a strange
new street
Hearing words
that I have never heard
from a girl 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 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