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We found my cousin in my uncle Trevor's barn, he slit his arm from wrist to elbow and back again. Hey lay there twitching, a goldfish in broken glass, they shook him, begged, pleaded, I said: "Let it be- he's gone, gone, gone." There's a sweetness in the worst things. My room was bare, so I hung a fuchsia over my bed. The blooms hang heavy, thrusting pistil, dripping spores; almost obscene, withered and ignored, they fall to the floor. There's a sweetness in the worst things. Aus Songtexte Mania