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  O why should I have spring fever when it isn't even spring?  I keep wishing I were someone else, walking down a strange new street  Hearing words that I've never heard from a girl I've yet to meet  I'm as busy as 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  But I feel so gay in a melancholy way that it might as well be spring  It might as well be spring    I'm as busy as 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  But I feel so gay in a melancholy way that it might as well be spring  Oh it might as well be spring