Lyric It Might As Well Be Spring

(1945) Richard Rodgers, Oscar Hammerstein II

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.