Paul Simon - The Boxer: Live From Paris

En Newport Gales, en nuestro bar "The Dolphin" yo ponía y ponía esta canción en la rockola. Muy depresiva, muy linda, nostálgica y hermosa. En algún momento (los primeros diez minutos) me enamoré de una inglesa horrorosa, por suerte Wayne me dijo "no, está muy fea" y por suerte se embarazó en el minuto once, de manera que pude salir nostálgico, pero solito del Dolphin Pub, a los diecisiete. Esa fue la buena noticia.

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 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 ...
Now the years are rolling by me
They are rocking evenly
And I am older than I once was
And younger than I'll be
But that's not unusual
No, it isn't strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are
More or less the same
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
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 ...
Written by Paul Simon