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