Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Stephen Stills
Electric Guitar
Al Kooper
Organ
Joey Scott
Conductor
Mike Bloomfield
Electric Guitar
Eddie "Fast" Hoh
Drums
Barry Goldberg
Electric Piano
Harvey Brooks
Bass
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Donovan
Songwriter
Al Kooper
Arranger
Joey Scott
Horn Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Al Kooper
Producer
Roy Halee
Engineer
Fred Catero
Engineer
Lyrics
When I look outside my window
What do I see?
And when I look outside my window
So many different people to be, yeah
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
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
And here we sit immersed 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
Season of the witch
Please have mercy on my soul
No, no, must be the season of the witch
[Incomprehensible]
God, God, hey
If you can't help us you better listen, please
Momma, I'm cold
Writer(s): Donovan Leitch
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