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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 |
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I had spring fever |
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But I know it isn't even spring |
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I'm as starry eyed and vaguely discontented |
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Like a nightingale without a song to sing |
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Oh, why should |
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I have spring fever |
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When I know it isn't even spring? |
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I keep wishing |
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I were somewhere else |
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Walking down a strange new street |
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Hearing words that |
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I have never heard |
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From a man |
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I have 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 |
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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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Yes, it might, might as well be spring |
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Oh, I keep wishing |
|
I were somewhere else |
|
Walking down a strange new street |
|
Hearing words that |
|
I have never, never heard |
|
From a man |
|
I have yet to meet |
|
I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams |
|
I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing |
|
I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud |
|
Or a robin on the wing |
|
My, I feel so gay in a melancholy way |
|
That it might as well be spring |
|
Yeah, it might, might as well be spring |
