| 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 skater’s waltz
|
| Some people have got to paint and draw
|
| Harry had to work iin 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 doesn’t 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 who’s going to be in the gallery
|
| No lies he wouldn’t compromise
|
| No junk no bits of string
|
| And all the lies we subsidise
|
| That just don’t mean a thing
|
| I’ve got to say he passed away in obscurity
|
| And now all the vultures are coming down from the tree
|
| So he’s going to be in the gallery |