It Might as Well Be Spring

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? And I keep wishing I were somewhere else Walking on a strange new street Hearing words I've never heard before 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 Oh and I haven't seen a rosebud or a crocus 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