On a morning from a Bogart movie, 
in a country where they turned back time, 

you go strolling through the crowd 
like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime. 

She comes out of the sun in a silk dress, 
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 till 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." 

Well, she looks at you so coolly 
and her eyes shine like the moon in the sea. 

She comes in incense and patchouli, 
so you take her to find what's waiting inside 
the Year of the Cat. 

Well, morning comes and you're still with her, 
and the bus and the tourists are gone. 

And you've thrown away your choice, 
have lost your ticket, 
so you 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 gonna stay 
in the Year of the Cat, mm, Year of the Cat.