I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm
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 vaugely discontented
Like a nightingale without a song to sing
Why should i have spring fever
When it isn't even 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 gidddy as a baby on a swing
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud
Or a robin on the wind

But i feel so gay
In a melancholy way
That it might as well be spring
It might as well be spring