The Boxer Lyrics - Bob Dylan

I'm just a poor boy 

Though my story's seldom told 

I have squadered my resistance 

For a pocketful of numbles 

Such are promises, all lies and jest 

Still a man hears what he wants to hear 

And disregards the rest. 

When I left my home and 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. 

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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 gone, going home 

Where the new york city winters aren't bleeding me 

Leading me 

Going home. 

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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.