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
Oh 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 heard
From a man I've yet to meet
I'm as busy as spider
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
And that's why I feel this way
And yet I know it's not spring today
But it might as well be spring