When I look outside my window, What do I see? And when I look outside my window, So many different people to be That it's strange, so strange. You've got to pick up every stitch, Two rabbits running in a ditch, The hippies out to make it rich
Oh no, must be the season of the witch, Must be the season of the witch, Must be the season of the witch. Must be the season of the witch.
(Well) when I look over my shoulder What do I see? And when I look over my shoulder, Some ancient fellow I'm longing to be It's so strange So strange
You've got to pick up every stitch, Two rabbits running in the ditch, That hippie's out to make it rich
Oh no, must be the season of the witch, Must be the season of the witch, yeah Must be the season of the witch. Must be the season of the witch.
”And here we sit immerged in a liquid sea of love, Shimmering rainbows in silver sky above, A looking glass that reflects our past Tied with seaweed all around like willows Upside down you caress my heart Caress my soul Surround my limbs You laugh your laugh And hold my body fast And we wake up and sit here thinking Thinking about the times we used to have And know they're gone forever We'll never learn Never learn”
“Help me” “Somebody help him”
As I look over my shoulder What do I see? And as I look over my shoulder, There's so many pretty sights to see That it's strange, so strange
You've got to pick up every stitch, You've got to pick up every stitch, Those hippies out to make it rich Oh no, must be the season of the witch, Must be the season of the witch, Must be the season of the witch. Season of the witch Please have mercy on my soul No. No. Must be the season of the witch
“God. God, hey! If you can't help us you better listen Please Momma, I'm cold”
Compositor: Donovan Phillips Leitch ECAD: Obra #591760 Fonograma #2246473