The Boxer - Emmylou Harris

I am just a poor boy though my story’s seldom told

I have squandered my existence

On a pocket full of mumbles such are promises

All lies in jest 'til a man hears what he wants to hear

And disregards the rest

Well, 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 poor quarters where the ragged people go

Looking for the places only they would know

Only seeking 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

In a-laying out my winter clothes

And wishing I was home, going home

Where the New York City winters aren’t a-bleeding me

Bleeding me, going home

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

And he carries the reminders

Of every bloke that laid him down or cleft him

'Til he cried out in his anger and his shame

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