T h e B o x e r
Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel
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
And disregard 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 Ave
I do declared,
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 clearings stands a boxer
and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
of ev'ry glove that laid him
down and 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...