The Decades - 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

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

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Asking only workman's wages

I can 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

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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 reminders

Of every glove that laid him down

Or cut him till he cried out

In his anger and his shame

I am leaving I am leaving

But the fighter still remains

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