The Boxer

I am just a poor boy though my story’s seldom told
I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full 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 family, I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers, in the quiet of a railway station running scared
Lying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

CH: Lie la lie (etc)

Seeking only workman’s wages, I’ve come looking for a job but I get no offers
Just a come on from the whores on Wall Street
I do declare there were times I was so lonesome I took some comfort there

CH:

Now I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone, going home
Where the New York City winters aren’t bleeding me, leaving me, going home

CH:

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by her trade
She carries the reminders of every glove that laid her low or cut her
‘Til she cried out in her anger and her shame
I am leaving, I am leaving yet the fighter still remains

CH X 2