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The Boxer (Live)

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  • I am just a poor boy
    Though my story's seldom told
    I have squandered my resistance
    For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
    All lies and jests
    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 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
    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, going home
    In the clearing stands a boxer
    And a fighter by his trade
    And he carries the reminders
    Of ev'ry glove that layed him down
    Or cut him till he cried out
    In his anger and his shame
    "I am leaving, I am leaving"
    But the fighter still remains
    Lie la lie ...
  • I am just a poor boy
    Though my story's seldom told
    I have squandered my resistance
    For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
    All lies and jests
    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 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
    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, going home
    In the clearing stands a boxer
    And a fighter by his trade
    And he carries the reminders
    Of ev'ry glove that layed him down
    Or cut him till he cried out
    In his anger and his shame
    "I am leaving, I am leaving"
    But the fighter still remains
    Lie la lie ...