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Artista: The National You’re cussing a stone in a cocktail dress your mother wore when she was young; red sun saint around your neck; a wet martini in a paper cup; you’re a wasp nest, you’re a wasp nest. Your eyes are broken bottles and I’m afraid to ask and all your wrath and cutting beauty you’re posion in the pretty glass you’re a wasp nest, you’re a wasp nest. You’re all humming live wires under your killing clothes. Get over here; I wanna kiss your skinny throat. You’re a wasp nest, you’re a wasp nest. You’re cussing a stone in a cocktail dress your mother wore when she was young; red sun saint around your neck; a wet martini in a paper cup; you’re a wasp nest, you’re a wasp nest. Your eyes are broken bottles and I’m afraid to ask and all your wrath and cutting beauty you’re posion in the pretty glass you’re a wasp nest, you’re a wasp nest. You’re all humming live wires under your killing clothes. Get over here; I wanna kiss your skinny throat. You’re a wasp nest, you’re a wasp nest.
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