Bob Dylan - The Boxer Lyrics
Im just a poor boyThough my storys seldom toldI have squadered my resistanceFor a pocketful of numblesSuch are promises, all lies and jestStill a man hears what he wants to hearAnd disregards the rest.When I left my home and familyI was no more than a boyIn the company of strangersIn the quiet of the railway stationRunning scared, laying lowSeeking out the poorer quartersWhere the ragged people goLooking for the places only they would know.Asking only workmans wagesI come looking for a jobBut I get no offersJust a come-on from the whores on seventh avenueI do declareThere were times when I was so lonesomeI took some comfort there.Then Im laying out my winter clothesAnd wishing I was gone, going homeWhere the new york city winters arent bleeding meLeading meGoing home.In the clearing stands a boxerAnd a fighter by his tradeAnd he carries the remindersOf every glove that laid him downAnd cut him till he cried outIn his anger and his shameI am leaving, I am leavingBut the fighter still remains.
