The Boxer (Simon & Garfunkel)                         glove that laid him down And cut him 'til he      
                                                      cried out in his anger and his shame, "I am       
I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom         leaving, I am leaving," but the fighter still     
told. I have squandered my resistance for a           remains.                                          
pocketful of mumbles, Such are promises. All                                                            
lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants        [chorus]                                          
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.                                                                            
                                                                                                        
[chorus]:                                                                                               
    Lie la lie, lie la la la lie la lie,                                                                
    lie la lie, Lie la la la lie la lie,                                                                
    la la la la 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 Seventh Avenue. I do declare there                                                        
were times when I was so lonesome I took some                                                           
comfort there                                                                                           
                                                                                                        
[chorus]                                                                                                
                                                                                                        
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 every