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 the 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.

I'm taking a shit into your thread -- huuuuuh pffarplfshhhhh farP! splash