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.

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