Off to the airport to check in the bags Proud of my suntan and good times I've had Laying on beaches and writing out cards Back to the humdrum and bashing out cars Into the aircraft I look for my seat A nervous tension builds inside me Onto the runway I pretend I'm elsewhere In minutes we're flying through the hot evening air Down there toy town the twinkle of lights The long white beaches of holiday time Suddenly someone has pulled out a gun His shout for attention has everyone stunned Hands on our heads there's a new kind of fear We're over the barrel with the hits of the year
Held up to ransom assured we'll be safe The yellow ribbon comes out again How many gods can there be in one sky All so important and all so involved Here on a trigger a disciple of fear As we wait without knowing if we're hits of the year
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