| Once I was a sentimental thing;
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| threw my heart away each spring.
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| Now a spring romance
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| hasn’t got a chance.
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| Promised my first dance to winter.
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| All I’ve got to show’s a splinter
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| for my little fling.
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| Spring this year has got me feeling
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| like a horse that never left the post.
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| I lie in my room
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| staring up at the ceiling.
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| Spring can really hang you up the most.
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| Morning’s kiss wakes trees and flowers,
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| and to them I’d like to drink a toast.
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| But I walk in the park
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| just to kill the lonely hours.
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| Spring can really hang you up the most.
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| All afternoon the birds twitter-twitt.
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| I know the tune. |
| This is love, this is it.
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| Heard it before
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| and don’t I know the score.
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| And I’ve decided that spring is a bore.
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| Love seems sure around the new year.
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| Now it’s April. |
| Love is just a ghost.
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| Spring arrived on time,
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| only what became of you, dear?
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| Spring can really hang you up the most.
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| Spring can really hang you up the most.
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| Love came my way. |
| I thought it would last.
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| We had our day, now it’s all in the past.
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| Spring came along, a season of song,
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| full of sweet promise
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| but something went wrong.
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| Doctors once prescribed a tonic.
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| Sulfur and molasses was the dose.
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| Didn’t help one bit.
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| My condition must be chronic.
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| Spring can really hang you up the most.
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| All alone, the party is over.
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| Old man winter was a gracious host.
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| But when you keep praying
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| for snow to hide the clover,
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| spring can really hang you up the most. |