From dust things sprang before, but nothing seems to grow here anymore.   Just patient little children waiting for what came before   She'd angled the barrel into her chin   The last of the face cream still smeared on her skin   And the gun in the puddle of blood is no fun   'Cause it's all an illusion, here's a lens   Here's the scene   Then go over and over the war still unwon   Here's a camera, take it, make the world clean!      So Burn all the photographs   I'll not own anyone   I'll throw the hand grenade   If you shoot the gun   It's what everyone wanted   In the long run   BURN BURN BURN      From things dust sprang before but nothing seems to die here anymore   Just dying scrabbling old men waiting at the nursery door   He'd practiced his speeches, his gestures, his ease   Pictured rehearsing spontaneity   And the gun in the puddle of blood is no fun,   'Cause it's all an ambition to take a thing home   And the cold in his eye's untouched by anyone   But caught by the camera and raised up in stone.      So Burn all the photographs   I'll not own anyone   I'll throw the hand grenade   If you shoot the gun   It's what everyone wanted   In the long run   BURN BURN BURN      Burn all the photographs   Destroy the negatives   I'll wipe the hard drive   If you spill the fixatives   Burn down the darkroom   Tear all the prints   BURN BURN BURN   BURN BURN BURN   BURN BURN BURN BURN BURN