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 poera, Richard Cory at a show. Oh, he surely must be happy with everything he's got. 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.
He freely gave to charity, he had the common touch, And they were grateful for his patronage and 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 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.
