It Might As Well Be Spring

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

And hearing words that I've never heard from a girl I've yet to meet

I'm as busy as spider spinning daydreams, spinning 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.