The Boxer

Paula Fernandes

Compositor: Paul Simon / Garkful

Tom: D
Capotraste na 2ª casa

(capo 2ª casa)

D                                                                                    G
I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told.
                A
I have squandered my resistance,
                                                         D
For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises.
                  Bm
All lies and jest.
           A                       G                                                   D  A D
Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

D                                                                                    G
When I left my home and my family I was no more than a boy,
            A
In the company of strangers,
                                                  D
In the quiet of a railway station, runnin' scared.
           Bm              A                       G
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters,
                                       D
Where the ragged people go.
            A                 G         A                D
Lookin' for the places, only they would know.

          Bm         A
Lie-la-lie Lie-la-lie-la-la-la-lie
          Bm         G                 A            D
Lie-la-lie Lie-le-lie-la-lie-la-la-la-la-la-lie

                                                          G             Bm
Asking only workman's wages I come lookin' for a job,
                   A
But I get no offers,
                                                                  D
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue.
             Bm                  A                        G
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome,
                                  D                     A
I took some comfort there la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

D                                                                                  G
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
           A                                                                   D
Going home, where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me.
Bm            F#m         A       D
Bleadin' me, to goin' home.

D                                                                          G
In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade,
              A
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down,
      D                                                               Bm
Or cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame,
             A                G
"I am leaving, I am leaving."
                                  D     A D
But the fighter still remains.