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I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm |
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I'm as jumpy as puppet on a string |
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I'd say that |
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I had spring fever |
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But I know it isn't spring |
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I am starry eyed and vaguely discontented |
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Like a nightingale without a song to sing |
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Oh, why should |
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I have spring fever |
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When it isn't even spring? |
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I keep wishing |
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I were someone else |
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Walking down a strange new street |
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And hearing words that |
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I have never heard |
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From a girl, |
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I've yet to meet |
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I'm as busy as spider spinning daydreams |
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I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing |
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I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud |
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Or a robin that's on the wing |
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But I feel so gay in a melancholy way |
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That it might as well be spring |
|
It might as well be spring |
|
I keep wishing |
|
I were someone else |
|
Walking down a strange new street |
|
And hearing words that |
|
I have never heard |
|
From a girl, |
|
I've yet to meet |
|
Oh, 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 that's 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 |
