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Hanging In The Gallery by Strawbs
Hanging In The Gallery
D G D
Is it the painter or the picture
Em D
Hanging in the gallery?
Em D
Admired by countless thousands
Em D
Who attempt to read the secrets
G A
Of his vision of his very soul.
G D
Is it the painter or the picture
Em D
Hanging in the gallery?
Em D
Or is it but a still life
Em D
Of his own interpretation
Em D
Of the way that God had made us
G A D
In the image of His eye?
G D
Is it the sculptor or the sculpture
Em D
standing in the gallery?
Em D
Touched by fleeting strangers
Em D
Who desire to feel the strength of hands
G A
That realised a form of life.
G D
Is it the sculptor or the sculpture
Em D
standing in the gallery?
Em D
Or is it but the tenderness
Em D
With which his hands were guided
Em D
To discard the unessentials
G A D
And reveal the perfect truth?
G D
Is it the actor or the drama
Em D
Playing to the gallery?
Em D
Heard in every corner
Em D
Of the theatre of cruelty\par
G A
That masks the humour in his speech.
G D
Is it the actor or the drama
Em D
Playing to the gallery?
Em D
Or is it but the character
Em D Em
Of any single member of the audience
D
That forms the plot
G A D
Of each and every play?
G D
Is it the singer or his likeness
Em D
Hanging in the gallery?
Em D
Tongue black, still and swollen,
Em D
His eyes staring from their sockets,
G A
He is silent now, will sing no more.
G D
Is it the singer or his likeness
Em D
Hanging in the gallery?
Em D
Or is it but his conscience,
Em D
Insecurity, and loneliness,
Em D
When destiny becomes at last
G D A D
The cause of his demise?
----------------
version 2
C G
Is it the painter or the picture
C G
Hanging in the gallery?
C G
Admired by countless thousands
C G
Who attempt to read the secrets
C D
Of his vision of his very soul
C G
Is it the painter or the picture
C G
Hanging in the gallery?
C G
Or is it but a still life
C G
Of his own interpretation
C G
Of the way that God has made us
C D G
In the image of his eye?
Is it the sculptor or the sculpture
Standing in the gallery?
Touched by fleeting strangers
Who desire to feel the strength of hands
That realized a form of life
Is the the sculptor or the sculpture
Standing 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 humor in his speech
Is the 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
---------------