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When I was seventeen, it was a very good year |
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It was a very good year for small town girls |
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And soft summer nights |
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We'd hide from the lights on the village green |
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When I was seventeen |
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When I was twenty one, it was a very good year |
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It was a very good year for city girls who lived up the stair |
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With all that perfumed hair and it came undone |
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When I was twenty one |
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Then I was thirty five it was a very good year |
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It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls |
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Of independent means, we'd ride in limousines |
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Their chauffeurs would drive |
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When I was thirty five |
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But now the days grow short, I'm in the autumn of the year |
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And now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs |
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From the brim to the dregs and it poured sweet and clear |
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It was a very good year |
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It was a mess of good years |
