?m as restless as a willow in a windstorm I?m as jumpy as a 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 Why should I have spring fever when it isn't even spring I keep wishing I were somewhere else walking down a strange new street hearing words that I have never heard from a man I've 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 wind But I feel so gay in a melancholy way that it might as well be spring It might as well be spring