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? 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 wing, but I Feel so gay In a melancholy way That it might as well be spring. It might as well be 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 wing, but I Feel so gay In a melancholy way That it might as well be spring. It might as well be Spring