Burn All The Photographs

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