| 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,
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| 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» |