| Lyrics: | I am just a poor boy.
Though my story's seldom told,
I have squandered my
resistance
For a pocket full 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 ev'ry 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 |
