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Bob Dylan
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The Boxer
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Letra actual de la canción
I am just a poor boy<br />Though my story's seldom told<br />I have squadered my resistance<br />For a pocketful of mumbles<br />Such are promises, all lies and jest<br />Still a man hears what he wants to hear<br />And disregards the rest.<br /><br />When I left my home and family<br />I was no more than a boy<br />In the company of strangers<br />In the quiet of the railway station<br />Running scared, laying low<br />Seeking out the poorer quarters<br />Where the ragged people go<br />Looking for the places only they would know.<br /><br />Asking only workman's wages<br />I come looking for a job<br />But I get no offers<br />Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue<br />I do declare<br />There were times when I was so lonesome<br />I took some comfort there.<br /><br />Now the years go rushing by me<br />they are rocking evenly<br />I am older than I once was, <br />but I'm younger than I'll be, that's not unusual. <br />No it isn't strange.<br />After changes upon changes we are more, or less the same.<br />After changes we are more, or less the same.<br /><br />Then I'm laying out my winter clothes<br />And wishing I was gone, going home<br />Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me<br />Leading me<br />Going home.<br /><br />In the clearing stands a boxer<br />And a fighter by his trade<br />And he carries the reminders<br />Of every glove that laid him down<br />And cut him till he cried out<br />In his anger and his shame<br />"I am leaving, I am leaving"<br />But the fighter still remains.
Letra nueva de la canción
I am just a poor boy<br />Though my story's seldom told<br />I have squadered my resistance<br />For a pocketful of mumbles<br />Such are promises, all lies and jest<br />Still a man hears what he wants to hear<br />And disregards the rest.<br /><br />When I left my home and family<br />I was no more than a boy<br />In the company of strangers<br />In the quiet of the railway station<br />Running scared, laying low<br />Seeking out the poorer quarters<br />Where the ragged people go<br />Looking for the places only they would know.<br /><br />Asking only workman's wages<br />I come looking for a job<br />But I get no offers<br />Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue<br />I do declare<br />There were times when I was so lonesome<br />I took some comfort there.<br /><br />Now the years go rushing by me<br />they are rocking evenly<br />I am older than I once was, <br />but I'm younger than I'll be, that's not unusual. <br />No it isn't strange.<br />After changes upon changes we are more, or less the same.<br />After changes we are more, or less the same.<br /><br />Then I'm laying out my winter clothes<br />And wishing I was gone, going home<br />Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me<br />Leading me<br />Going home.<br /><br />In the clearing stands a boxer<br />And a fighter by his trade<br />And he carries the reminders<br />Of every glove that laid him down<br />And cut him till he cried out<br />In his anger and his shame<br />"I am leaving, I am leaving"<br />But the fighter still remains.
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