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Season of the Witch - Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper, Steve Stills
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Crédits

INTERPRÉTATION
Stephen Stills
Stephen Stills
Guitare électrique
Al Kooper
Al Kooper
Orgue
Joey Scott
Joey Scott
Direction d’orchestre
Mike Bloomfield
Mike Bloomfield
Guitare électrique
Eddie "Fast" Hoh
Eddie "Fast" Hoh
Batterie
Barry Goldberg
Barry Goldberg
Piano électrique
Harvey Brooks
Harvey Brooks
Basse
COMPOSITION ET PAROLES
Donovan
Donovan
Paroles/Composition
Al Kooper
Al Kooper
Arrangement
Joey Scott
Joey Scott
Arrangement de cors
PRODUCTION ET INGÉNIERIE
Al Kooper
Al Kooper
Production
Roy Halee
Roy Halee
Ingénierie
Fred Catero
Fred Catero
Ingénierie

Paroles

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 Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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