Richard Cory

Simon And Garfunkel · Live From New York City, 1967 [2002]

They say that Richard Cory owns one half of this whole town

With political connections to spread his wealth around

Born into society, a banker's only child

He had everything a man could want: power, grace, and style



But I work in his factory

And I curse the life I'm living

And I curse my poverty

And I wish that I could be

Oh I wish that I could be

Oh I wish that I could be

Richard Cory



The papers print his picture almost everywhere he goes

Richard Cory at the opera, Richard Cory at a show

And the rumor of his parties and the orgies on his yacht!

Oh he surely must be happy with everything he's got



But I, I work in his factory

And I curse the life I'm living

And I curse my poverty

And I wish that I could be

Oh I wish that I could be

Oh I wish that I could be

Richard Cory



He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch

And they were grateful for his patronage and they thanked him very much

So my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read:

"Richard Cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head"



But I, I work in his factory

And I curse the life I'm living

And I curse my poverty

And I wish that I could be

Oh I wish that I could be

Oh I wish that I could be

Richard Cory



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The following is the poem this Simon & Garfunkel song was based on:



Richard Cory



Whenever Richard Cory went downtown,

We people on the pavement looked at him;

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.



And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.



And he was rich-- yes, richer than a king--

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.



So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.



-Edwin Arlington Robinson

1897