The Boxer (feat. Mumford & Sons & Paul Simon)

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 jests

Still the man he 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

Lie-la-lie, lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-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

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes

And wishing I was home, going home

Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me

Leading me, going home

La-la, la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la

La-la-la-la

In the clearing stands a boxer

And a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders

Of every glove that laid him down

And cut him till he cried out

In his anger and his shame

"I am leaving, I am leaving"

But the fighter still remains

Lie-la-lie, lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie, la-la-la-la-lie

Lie-la-lie, lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie, la-la-la-la-lie

Lie-la-lie, lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie, lie-la-lie

Lie-la-lie, lie-lie-lie-lie, la-la-la-la-lie