In Harvard Square, bustling from one thing to another, I hear a busker in Newtowne Market Park singing Neil Young's Harvest Moon. I wandered over to the grass and listened. Every song he sang, I knew the words to it. And I found myself singing the high soprano counterpart -- softly, mostly.

Until he started in on Simon & Garfunkle's The Boxer and I couldn't help but sing out, Garfunkel's high tenor part over the singer's lower one, not loud enough to drown him out or take him over, but he heard me. I hope he didn't mind.

The Boxer -- the song of all the young hopefuls who come to the city.

I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles,
such are promises
all I suggest, still a man hears what he wants to hear
and disregards the rest, mmm hmmm...

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,
looking for the places only the would know

Li li li, li le li li li li...

Asking only workmen's wages, I come looking for a job
but I get no offers
just a come-on from the whores on 7th avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there, oo la le la le la la la...

Now the years are rolling by me,
they are rocking evenly
and I am older than I once was
and younger than I'll be but that's not unusual,
nor is it strange
after changes upon changes,
we are more or less the same
after changes we are more or less the same

Li li li, li le li li li li...

And I'm laying out my winter clothes
wishing I was gone, going home,
where the New York City winters are ableeding me
leading me to going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
and a fighter by his trade
and he carries a reminder
of every glove that laid him out or cut him till he cried out,
in his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving I am leaving" but the fighter still remains
He still remains

Li li li, li le li li li li...