I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm, I'm as jumpy as 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 O why should I have spring fever when it isn't even spring? I keep wishing I were someone else, walking down a strange new street Hearing words that I've never heard from a girl I've yet to meet I'm as busy as 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
I'm as busy as 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 Oh it might as well be spring