| I Google you
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| Late at night when I don’t know what to do
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| I find photos you’ve forgotten you were in
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| Put up by your friends
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| I do, I Google you
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| When the day is done and everything is through
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| I read your journal that you kept that month in France
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| I’ve watched you dance
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| And I’m pleased your name is practically unique
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| It’s only you and a would-be PhD from Chesapeake
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| Who writes papers on the structure of the sun
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| I’ve read each one
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| I know that I should let you fade
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| But there’s that box and there’s your name
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| Somehow it never makes the pain grow less or fade or disappear
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| I think that I should save my soul and I should crawl back in my hole
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| But it’s too easy just to fold and type your name again, I fear
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| I Google you
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| When I’m all alone and don’t know what to do
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| And each shred of information that I gather
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| Says you’ve found somebody new
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| And it really shouldn’t matter
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| Ought to blow up my computer
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| But instead…
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| I Google you |