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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 vaguely discontented |
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Like a nightingale without a song to sing |
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Oh, 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 giddy as a baby on a swing |
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I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud or a robin on the wing |
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But I feel so gay 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 |
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I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud or a robin on the wing |
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But I feel so gay 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 |
