Текст песни It Might As Well Be Spring (Remastered) - Nina Simone

(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.