they sit in the back seatnof their parents carnnot saying a wordnhoping they might not noticenhow far away they arenthe drapes gathered at thenside of the windownso you could look outnthey might never knownhow alone you arenntheir thoughts are keptnbehind a veilnof words hiddennbehind a straight facennthey lay buried in booksnwith knowledge of pictured placesni've had so many dreamsnand i'm laying them downnthe matching of thingsnyour pushing everything awaynthat you don't want at allnand making a way fornthe living dollsnwho know of a special placenin the nursery of nightnfor they remembernthey are still children insidenthe nursery at nightnthe livings dollsnhave no time for headachesnof the grown-up worldnthey know the ways of moneynand their business is goldnand they have what they neednto make their dreams in this worldnthey're terribly practical,nyes they are