When I was sev en teen,
it was a ver y good year.
It was a ver y good year for small town girls and soft sum mer nights.
We’d hide from the lights on the vil lage green when I was sev en teen.
When I was twen ty one,
it was a ver y good year.
It was a ver y good year for cit y girls who lived up the stair,
with all that per fumed hair,
and it came un done when I was twen ty one.
When I was thir ty five,
it was a ver y good year.
It was a ver y good year for blue blood ed girls of in de pen dent means.
We’d ride in lim ou sines,
their chauf feurs would drive when I was thir ty five.
But now the days are short.
I’m in the au tumn of the year,
and now I think of my life as vin tage wine from fine old kegs.
From the brim to the dregs,
it poured sweet and clear.
It was a ver y good year.
