Hanging in the Gallery - Strawbs

Is it the painter or the picture

Hanging in the gallery?

Admired by countless thousands

Who attempt to read the secrets

Of his vision of his very soul

Is it the painter or the picture

Hanging in the gallery?

Or is it but a still life

Of his own interpretation

Of the way that God had made us

In the image of His eye?

Is it the sculptor or the sculpture

Hanging in the gallery?

Touched by fleeting strangers

Who desire to feel the strength of hands

That realised a form of life

Is it the sculptor or the sculpture

Hanging in the gallery?

Or is it but the tenderness

With which his hands were guided

To discard the unessentials

And reveal the perfect truth?

Is it the actor or the drama

Playing to the gallery?

Heard in every corner

Of the theatre of cruelty

That masks the humour in his speech

Is it the actor or the drama

Playing to the gallery?

Or is it but the character

Of any single member of the audience

That forms the plot

Of each and every play?

Is it the singer or his likeness

Hanging in the gallery?

Tongue black, still and swollen

His eyes staring from their sockets

He is silent now, will sing no more

Is it the singer or his likeness

Hanging in the gallery?

Or is it but his conscience

Insecurity, and loneliness

When destiny becomes at last

The cause of his demise?