The Boxer

Paul Simon

I am just a poor boy.
Though my story's seldom told,
I have squandered my resistance
for a pocketful of numbles, 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,
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, Lie la lie la lie
la lie lie la lie Lie la lie
la la la la Lie la la la la lie.
Asking only workman's wages I come looking for a job,
but I get no offers,
Just a comeon from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
I do declare, there were times
when I was so lone some I
took some comfort there.
Ooo la la la la la la.
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.
and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till
he cried out in his anger and his sh?
"I am leaving. I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains.
Lie la lie...