Strawbs - Hanging in the gallery

I^Cs it the painte^Cr or the p^Cicture ^AmHanging in the galle^Cry? ^AmAdmired by countless tho^Cusands Who atte^Ammpt to read the se^Ccrets Of his vis^Cion of his ve^Dry soul. Is it the paint^Cer or the pi^Ccture ^AmHanging in the ga^Cllery? Or ^Amis it but a st^Cill life Of his o^Amwn interpretat^Cion Of the w^Amay that God had m^Cade us In the ima^Cge o^Df His e^Cye? Is it the scu^Clptor or the s^Cculpture ^Amstanding in the ga^Cllery? ^AmTouched by fleeting s^Ctrangers Who d^Amesire to feel the st^Crength of hands That realis^Ced a f^Dorm of life. Is it the scul^Cptor or the sc^Culpture ^Amstanding in the ga^Cllery? Or ^Amis it but the te^Cnderness With whi^Amch his hands were gu^Cided To dis^Amcard the une^Cssentials And reve^Cal the p^Derfect t^Cruth? Is it the act^Cor or the dr^Cama ^AmPlaying to the ga^Cllery? ^AmHeard in every co^Crner Of the the^Amatre of cr^Cuelty\par That m^Casks the humour ^Din his speech. Is it the a^Cctor or the d^Crama ^AmPlaying to the gall^Cery? Or i^Ams it but the ch^Caracter Of a^Amny single m^Cember of the au^Amdience That f^Corms the plot Of e^Cach and e^Dvery p^Clay? Is it the si^Cnger or his li^Ckeness ^AmHanging in the ga^Cllery? ^AmTongue black, still and sw^Collen, His eyes s^Amtaring from their soc^Ckets, He is si^Clent now, will si^Dng no more. Is it the s^Cinger or his li^Ckeness ^AmHanging in the g^Callery? Or i^Ams it but his co^Cnscience, Ins^Amecurity, and lon^Celiness, When d^Amestiny bec^Comes at last The caus^Ce o^Cf h^Dis de^Cmise?