(DiffordTilbrook)



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