The Boxer (Live at Central Park, New York, NY - August 15, 1991)

Well, 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 (Hmm, mmmm) 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 Lalala, lalala-lala-lala Lalala, lalala-la-lala-la-lalala-la 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 (lalala, la, lalala) Lalala, lalala-lala-lala Lalala, lalala-la-lala-la-lalala-la Lalala, lalala-la-lala-la-lalala-la-lalala-lalala-la And I'm laying out my winter clothes Wishing I was gone, goin' home Where the New York city winters aren't bleedin' me Leadin' 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 or cut him 'til he cried out In his anger and his shame Well I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains Yes, he still remains Lalala, lalala-lala-lala Lalala, lalala-la-lala-la-lalala-la Lalala, lalala-la-lala-la-lalala-la-lalala-lalala-la Lalala-la-lala-la-lalala-la-lalala-lalala-la-lalala-la