4008765

I am just a poor boy though my stories seldom told- I have squandered my resistance- For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises- All lies & jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest- When I left my home & family, I was no more than a boy- In the company of strangers, & 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 workmans wages I come looking for a job, but I get no offers- Just a come-on from some bitch 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 & wishing I was gone- Going home, where the chitown city winters aren't bleeding me- Leading me, going home- In the clearing stands a boxer & a fighter by his trade- & he carries a reminder, of every glove that laid him down- Or cut him till he cried out, in his anger & his shame- I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains--