The quotidian aches and pains
Of being a being
All the small nothings, theyre something;
The bric-a-brac euphoria

Every problems not mine to solve.
Ruth built a shrine to all
The passers-by, the banal

Ginger fears death
But Ruth says that lifes where the pains at
Gingers a bored one
Well, Ruth is a bear and Gingers a brat

Well, back in New York where the funs at
Waiting at the train tracks
Ginger is arguing in her head
With her bosssome bullshit hen

Well, Ruth, she walks down the platform
In black
She says its good to be back
In the citythe big brick hive

Ruth says, When all else fails
Dig the hippie shit like its working.
Ginger gets frustrated
And Ruth just shifts round the wording
Ginger, youre so good to me
But your worry is disconcerting.
Ruth, dont overthink it!
Now come back to bed Im just bursting.