The Boxer - Ainars Mielavs, Pārcēlāji

I'm 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 jest still a man hears what he wants to hear

And disregards the rest

Mh - mh.

When I left my home and 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.

Lie-la-lie

Asking only workman's wages I come looking for a job

But I get no offers

Just a comeon from the whores on Seventh Avenue.

I do declare

There were times when I was so lonesome

I took some comfort there

Oh la la

La la

La 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

Mh - mh.

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 till he cried out in his anger an his shame:

I am leaving, I am leaving!

But the fighter still remains

Mh - mh.