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 just

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 a railway station, runnin' scared


Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters

Where the ragged people go


Lookin' for the places, only they would know




Asking only workman's wages, I come lookin' for a job


But I get no offers


Just a come on from the !@^%s 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 bleedin' me


Leadin' me, to goin' home




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


And he carries the reminders 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, it still remains