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 I were someone else Walking down a strange new street And hearing words that I've never head From a girl I've yet to meet I'm as busy as spider spinning daydreams Spinning spinning daydreams I'm as giggy 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
