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