sexta-feira, 7 de julho de 2006

48 - O boxeur

Hoje, sinto-me assim... Levei uma daquelas direitas que nos levam ao chão!
Continua-se a lutar, cai-se, desiste-se?

The boxer

I am just a poor boy and my stories seldom told
I’ve squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jest, still the man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest, hmmmm

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 poorer quarters, where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

Li la li...
Asking only workman’s wages, I come looking for a job, but I get no offers
Just a common from the whores on 7th avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

Now the years are rolling by me, they are rocking even me
I am older than I once was, and younger than Ill be, 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

Li la li...

And I’m laying out my winter clothes, wishing I was gone, going home
Where the new York city winters aren’t bleeding me, leading me to go home

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 and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains
Yes he still remains?

Simon and Garfunkel

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