[Intro — low, close, dry] I went in search of joy with a serious face. That was, of course, my first mistake. [Verse 1] I packed a little suitcase with philosophy and socks. A map of ancient sorrow and some biscuits in a box. I asked the morning where it kept the brighter side of things. It pointed at the kettle and said: listen when it sings. I said: surely joy is larger, with a trumpet and a crown. The kettle simply whistled and refused to write that down. [Pre-Chorus] I looked in every theory. I knocked on every door. But joy was in the hallway laughing quietly at the floor. [Chorus] I went looking for joy, looking high, looking wise. Found it under ordinary light wearing no disguise. I went looking for joy, with my tragic little plan. It was hiding in the stupid smile of one imperfect man. Not a victory. Not a prize. Not a kingdom from above. Just the heart remembering it was still allowed to love. [Verse 2] I searched in noble weather. I searched in sacred books. I searched in people with impressive melancholy looks. I asked a passing dog if he had seen the secret flame. He stole my sandwich, wagged his tail, and answered with my name. A child was laughing near a shop at nothing much at all. I stood there like a scholar watching sunlight learn to fall. [Pre-Chorus] Perhaps the door to wonder is embarrassingly small. Perhaps the soul gets tired of being meaningful at all. [Chorus] I went looking for joy, looking high, looking wise. Found it under ordinary light wearing no disguise. I went looking for joy, with my tragic little plan. It was hiding in the stupid smile of one imperfect man. Not a victory. Not a prize. Not a kingdom from above. Just the heart remembering it was still allowed to love. [Bridge — spoken-sung] Listen. Joy is not cheerful. That is propaganda. Joy knows hospitals, taxes, lost keys, bad knees, and Tuesday. Joy has seen the abyss and still says: tea? This is not optimism. This is much worse. This is evidence. [Verse 3] So I returned without a doctrine, slightly damp and underfed. With a flower in my pocket and a nonsense in my head. I forgave the chair for creaking. I forgave the rain for rain. I forgave my own reflection for arriving late again. And somewhere in the evening, when the windows turned to gold, I felt a tiny reckless thing refuse to grow old. [Final Chorus — wider, warm] I went looking for joy, looking far, looking deep. Found it where the wounded world had not quite gone to sleep. I went looking for joy, with my tragic little art. It was tapping on the table from the basement of the heart. Not a slogan. Not a cure. Not a clever thing to prove. Just the soul with muddy shoes beginning still to move. [Outro — soft, close] I went in search of joy with a serious face. That was, thank heaven, not my last mistake.
