The Boxer

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 disregards the rest Mhm 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 Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly Asking only workman's wages I go 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 Ly-ly-ly-ly-ly-ly-ly Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly Then I'm laying out my winter clothes Wishing I was gone Going home Where the New York City winters are not bleeding me Leading me Going 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" Though the fighter still remains Still remains Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la Ly-la-ly Ly-la-ly-la-ly-la, la-la-ly-la-ly --- The Boxer - Matt Simons