I keep wishing I were someone else
Walking down a strange new street
Hearing words that I have 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 on the wing.
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way
That it might as well be spring. It might as well be spring.