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