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  la la la….

When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers in the quiet of a 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 la la la…

Lie – la – lie…

Now the years are rolling by me
They are rocking easily
I am older than I once was
and younger than I`ll be that`s not unusual 
It isn`t strange after changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same. 

SOLO

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 remainders  Of every 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 la la la….

Lie-la-lie…