The Boxer

	Lyrics：Paul Simon Music：Paul Simon
	I am just a poor boy
	Though my story's seldom told
	I have squandered my resistance
	For a pocket full 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
	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
	Bleeding 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
	Or 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 ...

	Lyrics: Paul Simon Music: Paul Simon
	I am just a poor boy
	Though my story' s seldom told
	I have squandered my resistance
	For a pocket full 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
	Lie 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 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
	Bleeding 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
	Or 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 ...