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.