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.
|
|
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.
|
|
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 reminders
|
Of ev'ry 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
|
|
Lie-la-lie...
|
|
-----------------
|
The Boxer
|
| Simon & Garfunkel |
