She's got her head in his lap But her body is in the corner of another room It's not what it seems. What it seems is they're living in a doll's house. Too little room to maneuver They've got to slither and scuttle. Arms through the windows Legs through the doors Brushing your teeth can be murder In a doll's house. You could build them a car Out of tin cans and cardboard Paint a fine road on the wall But it wouldn't tempt them at all They only want to be small In a doll's house. She bites down hard He fights back tears. What with no room for conception. And all of the dreams of Miracles and babies Turn into misery and maybe's It's a doll's house.