Year of the Cat - Al Stewart, Peter White

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