In 2013, Mother Nature blessed the city of New York with a season called spring. New Yorkers enjoyed it so much that they petitioned to make spring a yearly thing. Sure enough, spring is slowly returning. So in the spirit of Irish poets, Shakespeare, and people who love flowers and use words like “glorious,” this is our “Rite of Spring.” (Follow along with the lyrics below, if you like.)
“Springtime”
Laid back in the sunshine.
Behind an endless winter.
Now, wait, is this me dreaming?
Like all the sugar-mama dreams that never came?
I wish to follow wherever it will go.
Beyond the rainy mornings.
So drop your coat, cause where we’re going, we don’t need coats.
High winds.
The wicked blizzard, dead and gone.
Destroyed.
Springtime has sprung.
Who can believe this?
Goodness, my daisies have finally bloomed.
I’d know that smell anywhere …
The perfume at Bloomingdales.
Writers who can’t write,
Can now not write on a bench near a bride.
And you and I can try
Therapy outside.
Let’s plan a picnic!
But who will bring the hacky sack?
We’ll jog around the reservoir.
Of course, not now, but when we get the proper shoes and socks.
Oh, we’ll fall in love again.
And have sex in the Guggenheim.
Come meet my friends, they’re pigeons.
Oh, and, uh, don’t eat the flowers.
(Once I did, and nearly lost my vision.)
Violins.
May all your allergies be kind.
Springtime.
I’m yours.
You’re mine.
Who can believe this?
I’m eating dinner while strangers go by.
Let’s go to a jazz club.
Anyone? Jazz club?
I’ll buy us ice cream.
“Good sir, please tell us,
How much for a cone?”
“That’s very expensive …”
“Yeah, but for ice cream?
“Yeah, no, I’m just saying, for ice cream, it’s a little …”
No need for Paris, France.
I’ve got more romance than I’ll ever need.
There’s nothing to fear now.
Springtime is here now!
Oh-h-h-h-h-h.
Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
(Whistling solo)
I haven’t felt these feelings since I was a little girl in
Hyacinths.
And yet, we’ve only just begun.
I’m ready.
Springtime … I’ve sprung.
I feel so young!
(Guitar solo)
(More guitar solo)
(Even more guitar solo)
Directed by Myles Kane. Lyrics and performance by Marc Philippe Eskenazi.
