(Ervin Drake)

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for small town girls
and soft summer nights.
We'd 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 perfumed 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.
We'd ride in limousines.
Their chauffeurs would drive
when I was thirty-five.

But now the days are short,
I'm 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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