The Boxer

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I am just a poor boy.
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Though my story's seldom told,
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I have squandered my resistance
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For a pocketful of mumbles,
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Such are promises
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All lies and jest
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Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
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And disregards the rest.

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When I left my home
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And my family-,
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I was no more than a boy
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In the company of strangers
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In the quiet of the railway station,
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Running scared,
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Laying low,
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Seeking out the poorer quarters
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Where the ragged people go,
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Looking for the places
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Only- they would know.

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Lie la lie
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Lie la lie la lie la lie
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Lie la lie
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Lie la lie la la la la lie
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la la la la lie

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Asking only workman's wages
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I come looking for a job,
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But I get no offers,
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Just a come-on from the whores
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On Seventh Avenue
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I do declare,
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There were times when I was so lonesome
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I took some comfort there.

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Ooo la la la la la la

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Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
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And wishing I was gone,
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Going home
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Where the New York City- winters
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Aren't bleeding me,
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Leading me--,
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Going home.

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In the clearing stands a boxer,
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And a fighter by his trade
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And he carries the reminders
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Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
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Or cut him till he cried out
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In his anger and his shame,
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"I am leaving, I am leaving." 
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But the fighter still remains

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Lie la lie
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Lie la lie la lie la lie
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Lie la lie
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Lie la lie la la la la lie
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la la la la lie

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Lie la lie
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Lie la lie la lie la lie
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Lie la lie
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Lie la lie la la la la lie
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la la la la lie