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 stair
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, and it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year
It was a mess of good years
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