Jane Monheit
It Might As Well Be Spring
Im as restless as a willow in a windstorm,Im as jumpy as a puppet on a string,Id say that I had spring fever,But I know it isnt spring.Im as starry eyed and gravely discontented,Like a nightingale without a song to sing.Oh, why should I have spring fever,When it isnt 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 Ive yet to meet.Im as busy as a spider spinning daydreams,Im as giddy as a baby on a swing,I havent 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.
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