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 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

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 some times when I was so lonesome

And I took some comfort there

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders 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