There's a distilling that goes into the makings of a Lovely Bad Thingssong. It's a boiling out or an infusing of the impurities, of all the broken legs and the splintered hearts. It's taking all of it into account and seeing what can drip out through the filter, from the glob of gunk sitting there above. It's a melting down and a hammering out of all of the rough edges and the sharp points. It's getting the clots out - thinning them, at least. It's running the ends of fingers over some of the places that have been knocked harder than others, where the bruise might have waned, but the knotty thump is still there, able to be felt just below the surface. The folks in Lovely Bad Things songs seem like they're frustrated - and rightly so. They're spitting mad, but they're romantic about it. They're spitting into a warm sun and they're sure that the catharsis will be here soon.