because this is beautifully drawn...




The Boxer (5:07) P. Simon, 1968


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 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
Lie 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
Lie la lie...
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 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
Lie la lie...