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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 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 I know I know
it isn't spring
and 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
and 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