It Might as Well Be Spring -- Julie Andrews

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                       (sing365)



       

•    Spring  --  Claude Monet