The Boxer

I am just a poor boy, though my story is 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 the railway station, runnin' scared

Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters

Where the ragged people go

Lookin' for the places, only they would know

Lie-da-lie ...

Asking only workman's wages I come lookin' 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

Li da li ...

And I'm laying out my winter clothes, and wishing I was gone, goin' home

Where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me, leadin' me goin' 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, still remains