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 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, runnin’ scared, laying low,

Seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go

Looking for the places only they would know

Lie la lie, lie la la la lie 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 7th Avenue

I do declare , there were times when I was so lonesome

I took some comfort there

Now the years are rolling by me

They are rockin’ evenly

I am older than I once was

And younger than I’ll be; that’s not unusual

Nor is it strange

After changes upon changes

We are more or less the same

After changes we are more or less the same

And I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone

Goin’ home

Where the New York City winters aren’t bleedin’ me Leadin’ me

Goin’ home

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders

Of every glove that laid him down or cut him

‘Til he cried out in his anger and his shame

“I am leaving, I am leaving”, but the fighter still remains

PAUL SIMON and ART GARFUNKEL Adaptado de genius.com.