songbook/Simon_Garfunkel/The_boxer.sg

\selectlanguage{english}
\songcolumns{2}
\beginsong{The boxer}
  [by=Simon \& Garfunkel,cov=concert-in-central-park,album=Concert in central park]


  \cover
  \gtab{Do}{X32010}
  \gtab{Lam}{X02210}
  \gtab{Sol}{320003}
  \gtab{Sol7}{320001}
  \gtab{Fa}{1:022100}


  \beginverse
    \[Do]{I am} just a poor boy,
    Though my story is seldom \[Lam]told.
    I have \[Sol]squandered my resistance,
    For a \[Sol7]pocketful of \[Sol]mumbles,
    Such are \[Do]promises.
    All lies and \[Lam]jest,
    Still a \[Sol]man hears
    What he \[Fa]wants to hear and
    Disregards the \[Do]rest. \[Sol]\[Sol7]\[Sol]\[Do]
  \endverse

  \beginverse
    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,
    Runnin' scared.
    Laying low,
    Seeking out the poorer quarters,
    Where the ragged people go.
    Lookin' for the places,
    Only they would know.
  \endverse

  \beginchorus
    Lie-la-\[Lam]lie lie-la-\[Sol]lie-la-lie-la-lie
    Lie-la-\[Lam]lie
    Lie-la-\[Fa]lie-la-lie-la-\[Sol]lie-la-la-lie-la-\[Do]lie
  \endchorus

  \beginverse
    Asking only workman's wages
    I come lookin' 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,
    That I took some comfort there.
    La, la, la, la, la, la, la.
  \endverse

  \lilypond{The_boxer}

  \beginverse
    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
  \endverse

  \beginverse
    And I'm laying out my winter clothes,
    Wishing I was gone,
    Goin' home
    Where the New York City winters aren't bleedin' me,
    Leadin' \[Lam]me goin' \[Sol]home.
  \endverse

  \beginverse
    In the 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.
  \endverse

\endsong