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 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
Walkin' down
A strange new street
And hearing words
That I have
Never heard
From a girl
I've yet to meet
I am busy
As a spider
Spinning daydreams
Spinning
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