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 head   From a girl, I've yet to meet      I'm as busy as spider spinning daydreams   Spinning, 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   It might as well be spring