The Boxer sing and play along

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 jest, 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 running scared.

Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go,

looking for the places only they would know.

Lielalie, lielalielalielalielielalie lielalie la la la la lie la la la la lie.

Asking 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 or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame,

"I am leaving, I am leaving."

But the fighter still remains.

Liela lie, lielalielalielalielielalie lielalie la la la la lie la la la la lie,

lielalielalielalielielalie lielalie la la la la lie la la la lalie.