Vanilla Fudge

When I look out my window
What do I see
And when I look in my window
So many different people to be
That it's strange
So strange
You've got to pick up every stitch
The 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 fella that I long to be
It's so strange
So strange
You've got to pick up every stitch
To rights that's 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
And here we sit emerged in a liquid sea of love, shimmering rainbows
and silver skies above a looking-glass that reflects a 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, 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
Please, have mercy on my soul!
Be the season of the witch
Gone! Gone, hey! If you can't help us, you'd better listen. Please?
Mama, I'm cold.