When I was seventeen, it was a very good year. It was a very good year for small
town girl and soft summer night.
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
girl 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.
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.