I’ve lost the ability to concentrate
For more than 8 seconds
So I click away, click away, click away my day
I’m searching for you, searching for her, searching for him,
While I’m searching for myself
I’m not being metaphorical, I’m not being philosophical
Well, it turns out you’re 8 kinds of an artist and an adventurer
Turns out he is just himself
Turns out I’m a baseball star, and I’m living in hell
‘Cause I died in El Paso, I was born in 1912

I wish that you would search for me
I hope that you search for me sometimes
I wish that when I wake up you will have found me
Left me a note saying that you miss me profoundly
I’m just being nostalgic, I’m just being quixotic
Well, it turns out you really are a conductor and a rock star
I can’t believe how much you’ve done
Turns out I’m a computer programmer, living in Washington
But I died in El Paso, winter of 1941

I’m searching for all of the songs
That I haven’t heard in months
I think if I’m sing them all things will be like they were
Maybe I’ll just sing ‘til it hurts
I’m not practical, I’m not logical
Well it turns out that they broke up, they got a different name
Turns out they didn’t want to be a band
Turns out I was carjacked and murdered, buried in the Las Vegas sand
And I died in El Paso, a lonely, lonely man

I never have to search for you
Because I know everywhere you are
I never ever search for you
‘Cause know everywhere you are
I’m not being hurt by you, but neither am I alright
Well it turns out that you were always beautiful
And I’m living in Hell
Turns out you were always beautiful, and I’m living in Hell
Because I died in El Paso, I was born in 1912