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, but disregards the rest

Mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm

When I left my home and 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

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie-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-la

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)

Going home

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down

Or cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame

I am leaving, I am leaving but the fighter still remains

Mm-mm-mm

Lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie

Lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie-lie