The Boxer Paroles

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 stations running scared

Laying low seeking out the poor 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 times And wishing I was home going home
Where the New York City winters
Are bleeding me, bleeding me going home

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminder 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