I'm as restless as a willow
in a wind storm
I'm as jumpy as a puppet
on a string
I'd say that I have
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 do I have
spring fever
When I know it
isn't spring
I keep wishing I were
somewhere else
Walking down a strange
new street
Hearing words
that I have never heard
From a man 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
I keep wishing I were
somewhere else
Walking down a strange
new street
Hearing words
that I have never heard
From a man 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