Paul Simon

All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

2 thoughts on “Paul Simon

  1. s.A

    The Boxer (‘Live’)

    by Paul Simon

    I am just a poor boy
    Though my story’s seldom told
    I have squandered my resistance
    For a pocket full of mumbles
    Such are promises
    All lies and jests
    Still a man 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 poorer quarters
    Where the ragged people go
    Looking for the places
    Only they would know
    Lie la lie, lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Asking only workman’s wages
    I come looking for a job
    But I get no offers
    Just a come-on from the whores
    On Seventh Avenue
    I do declare
    There were times when I was so lonesome
    I took some comfort there
    La la la la la la la
    Lie la lie, lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    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
    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 ’til he cried out
    In his anger and his shame
    “I am leaving, I am leaving”
    But the fighter still remains
    Lie la lie, lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, lie la lie
    Lie la la la lie la lie, la la la la lie

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  2. shinichi

    The Dangling Conversation

    by Paul Simon

    It’s a still life water color,
    Of a now late afternoon,
    As the sun shines through the curtained lace
    And shadows wash the room.
    And we sit and drink our coffee
    Couched in our indifference,
    Like shells upon the shore
    You can hear the ocean roar
    In the dangling conversation
    And the superficial sighs,
    The borders of our lives.

    And you read your Em’ly Dickinson
    And I my Robert Frost
    And we note our place with book markers
    That measure what we’ve lost
    Like a poem poorly written
    We are verses out of rhythm
    Couplets out of rhyme
    In syncopated time (in syncopated time)
    And the dangling conversation
    And the superficial sighs
    Are the borders of our lives

    Yes, we speak of things that matter
    With words that must be said
    “Can analysis be worthwhile?”
    “Is the theater really dead?”
    And how the room is softly faded
    And I only kiss your shadow, I cannot feel your hand
    You’re a stranger now unto me
    Lost in the dangling conversation
    And the superficial sighs
    In the borders of our lives.

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