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.