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.