There’s a certain something in the air:
A melody that haunts a cloudy sky.
The breezes hum the music;
The flowers sing the words-
This melancholy message
Is told by all the birds.

Spring will be so sad when she comes this year.
How can she be glad when she reaches here?
The winds have whispered while they race:
There’s a frown on April’s face,
For she can’t find any trace
Of contentment’s hiding place.

Spring just can’t be gay when she come this year.
She won’t want to stay when she reaches here.
This troubled world can’t tell you when
She’ll be happy once again.
Oh, Spring will be so sad when she comes this year.