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 lights 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 all that perfumed hair
and it 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.