(difford/tilbrook)

Off to the airport to check in the bags
Proud of my suntan and good times Ive 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 Im elsewhere
In minutes were 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 theres a new kind of fear
Were over the barrel with the hits of the year

Held up to ransom assured well 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 were hits of the year