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 am starry-eyed and vaguely 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 that i have never heard
>from a girl 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