Jerry Douglas

Well I am just a poor boy, though my story's seldom told
I squandered my existence for a pocket full of mumbles
Such are promises.
All lies and jest
Still the man he hears what he wants to hear
and disregards the rest
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 running scared
Laying low seeking out the poor quarters where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they will know
Well lie-la-lie...
Asking only workmans wages I went looking for a job
But I get no offers
Just a come one from the whores on 7th Avenue
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome I took some comfort there
And 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
Well lie-la-lie...
In the clearing stands a boxer
and a fighter by his trade
and he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down and cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
I am leaving
I am leaving
But the fighter still remains
Well lie-la-lie