I´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
Oh, 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 girl 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 wing
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way
That it might as well be Spring

It might as well be Spring