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quinta-feira, 10 de abril de 2008

The Boxer

I am just a poor boy
though my stories seldom told
I have squandered my existence
for a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
all eyes in just still a man hears
what he wants to ear 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 railwaystation running scared
laying low, seeking aout the poorer quarters
where the ragged people go
looking for the places only they would know.

lie la lie...

asking only workmans 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 where times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there
la la lie lie lie lie lie


now 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 carrys the reminders
of every glove that layed 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

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