Titre   : The Boxer

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

|--3-----0-----0---|----0-------------|------------------|------------------|
|----5-----3-----3-|------3---1-----1-|----1-------1-----|------------------|
|------7-----3-----|--0-----0---3-----|--------0-------0-|---------%--------|
|------------------|--------------5---|------2-------2---|------------------|
|------------------|------------------|--3---------------|------------------|
|------------------|------------------|----------3-------|------------------|

C                                            Am
I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told
G                             Dm            G                C
I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises
Am           G                F
All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear
C   G   G7   G6   C
And disregards the rest

C                                               Am
When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy
G                          G7        G6              C
In the company of strangers in the quiet of a railway station, running scared
Am          G             F                                C
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters where the ragged people go
G             G7   G6        C
Looking for the places only they would know

Am         G                        Am
Lie la lie, Lie la lie la lie la lie, Lie la lie,
G                          F          C
Lie la lie la la la la, lie la la la la lie.

C                                        Am              G
Asking only workman's wages I come looking for a job but I get no offers
G7              G6               C
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
Am               G               F                              C
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there
G                 G7   G6   C
Lie lie lie lie la

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 a reminder ov 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