We've mastered the art of finding sadness;
In a little house, inhabiting a tiny space
We understand its variations, its madness
We know its address, its hiding places

But happiness is more complicated
Rarely found, we're constantly searching.
Its attached to stereotypicality, abbrieviated
If not received, it causes constant hurting

It dwells over a vast continent
And thus the search is longer
We start to lose our confidence
The yearn for it grows ever stronger

The home of happiness has since grown
And iron lock placed on its door

The key seems lost, will it ever be found?
I think it lurks in disguised places
Not on sunny days, on lusious grounds
Or in gleeming eyes or smiley faces

It hides in misconception
Like a thief in the night
Drenched in deception
Ready to pounce, to fight

You off and those who stumble on
Sadness become addicted to the little house
And do not dare travel where they may get
Lost. But live in its hole, as a spinless mouse

We are terrified of the unknown
But we've never wanted something more