I have squandered my resistance
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
When I left my home and my family
In the quiet of the railway station
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Looking for the places only they would know
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
In the clearing stands a boxer