"The Boxer"
I am just a poor boy
Though my story's
seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of
mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he
wants to hear
And disregards the rest
When I left my home and my
family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the
quiet of a railway station
Running scared
Laying low, seeking out the
poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only
they would know
Lie-la-lie...
Asking only workman's wages
I
come looking for a job
But I get no offers
Just a come-on from the whores
on Seventh Avenue
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome
I
took some comfort
there
La-la-la-la-la-la
Lie-la-lie...
Then I'm laying out
my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York
City winters aren't bleeding me
Leading me
To going home
In the
clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the
remainders
Of every glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried
out
In his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I am leaving”
But the
fighter still remains
Still remains
Lie-la-lie...
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