The quotidian aches and pains
Of being a being
All the small nothings, they’re something
The bric-a-brac euphoria

Every problem’s not mine to solve
Ruth built a shrine to all
The passers-by, the banal

Ginger fears death
But Ruth says that life’s where the pain’s at
Ginger’s a bored one
Well, Ruth is a bear and Ginger’s a brat

Well, back in New York where the fun’s at
Waiting at the train tracks
Ginger is arguing in her head
With her boss—some bullshit hen

Well, Ruth, she walks down the platform
In black
She says it’s good to be back
In the city—the big brick hive

Ruth says, When all else fails
Dig the hippie shit like it’s working
Ginger gets frustrated
And Ruth just shifts round the wording
Ginger, you’re so good to me
But your worry is disconcerting
Ruth, don’t overthink it!
Now come back to bed I’m just bursting