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13 years 2 months
Lyrics By
Paul Simon
Music By
Paul Simon
Lyrics

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles
Such are ppromises
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
Running scared
Laying low
Seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places
Only they would know

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

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
Leading 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

Song

  • The Boxer
    Lyrics By:
    Music By:

    I am just a poor boy
    Though my story's seldom told
    I have squandered my resistance
    For a pocketful of mumbles
    Such are ppromises
    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
    Running scared
    Laying low
    Seeking out the poorer quarters
    Where the ragged people go
    Looking for the places
    Only they would know

    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

    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
    Leading 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