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