In the gallery

Harry made a bareback rider proud and free upon a horse
And a fine coalminer for the ncb that was
A fallen angel and jesus on the cross
A skating ballerina you should have seen her do the skaters waltz

Some people have got to paint and draw
Harry had to work in clay and stone
Like the waves coming to the shore
It was in his blood and in his bones
Ignored by all the trendy boys in london and in leeds
He might as well have been making toys or strings of beads
He could not be in the gallery

And then you get an artist says he doesnt want to paint at all
He takes an empty canvas and sticks it on the wall
The birds of a feather all the phonies and all of the fakes
While the dealers they get together
And they decide who gets the breaks
And whos going to be in the gallery

No lies he wouldnt compromise
No junk no bits of string
And all the lies we subsidise
That just dont mean a thing
Ive got to say he passed away in obscurity
And now all the vultures are coming down from the tree
So hes going to be in the gallery