A note about this arrangement:
Note how the choice of singer for each verse tends to advance the idea of an aging person. He starts defeated, continues defeated, and ends defeated.
Gotta say, I'm very proud of this one.
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 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.
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.
Now 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 a 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 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving! I am leaving!" but the fighter still remains.
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12 years, 12 months ago
06 Jan 2012 04:36 CET
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