When I was seventeen,
it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for small town girls
and soft summer nights.
Wed hide from the light
on the village green
when I was seventeen.

When I was twenty-one,
it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for city girls
who lived up the stairs
With perfume hair
that came undone
when I was twenty-one.

When I was thirty-five,
it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls
of independent means.
Wed ride in limousines.
Their chauffeurs would drive
when I was thirty-five.

But now the days are short,
Im in the autumn of the year
and now I think of my life
as vintage wine
from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs.
It poured sweet and clear.
It was a very good year

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