On a morning from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time
You come strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime
She comes out of the sun in a silk dressing running
Like a watercolor in the rain
Don't bother asking for explanations
She'll just tell you that she came
In the Year of the Cat
She doesn't give you time for questions
As she locks up your arm in hers
And you follow 'til your sense of which direction
Completely disappears
By the blue-tiled walls near the market stalls
There's a hidden door she leads you to
"These days," she says, "I feel my life just like a river running through
The Year of the Cat."
Oh, she looks at you so cooly
And her eyes shine
Like the moon and the sea
She comes in incense and patchouli
So you take her
To find what's waiting inside
The Year of the Cat
The morning comes and you're still with her
And the bus and the tourists have gone
And you've thrown away your choice
And lost your ticket
So you'll have to stay on
But the drumbeat strains of the night remain
In the rhythm of the newborn day
You know sometime you're bound to leave her
But, for now you're going to stay
In the Year of the Cat
