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