The thing 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 my mama says, I sit around and mourn. Pretending that I am so wonderful And knowing I'm adored.
I'm as redtless as a willow in a windstorm, I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string. I'd say that I have spring fever, But I know it isn't even spring. I'm as starry eyed and vaguely discontented, Like a nightingale without a song to sing. Oh, why should I have spring fever, When I know it isn't spring.
I keep wishing I were somewhere else, Walking down a strange new street, Hearing words that I have never heard From a man I'm 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 rose bud Or a robin on the wing. But I feel so gay in a melancholy way, That it might as well be spring, I might as well be spring!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
