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'm 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

and that's why i feel this way

and yet i know it's not spring today

but it might as well be spring