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i'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm |
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i'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string |
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i'd say that i had spring fever |
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but i know it isn't spring |
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i am starry eyed and vaugely discontented |
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like a nightingale without a song to sing |
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why should i have spring fever |
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when it isn't even spring |
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i keep wishing i were somewhere else |
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walking down a strange new street |
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hearing words that i have never heard |
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from a man i've yet to meet |
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i'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams |
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i'm as gidddy as a baby on a swing |
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i haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud |
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or a robin on the wind |
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but i feel so gay |
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in a melancholy way |
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that it might as well be spring |
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it might as well be spring |
