Simon sinks down, doesn't offer a word
The mirror hacked, cracked, whacked, smacked
by a samurai sword
We're gonna have a party but the compo's empty
The corridors wedged with people a-plenty
Poised to fall out the door, Pull the emergency cord

Could 145 Miles, 11 chains be worse?
Travelling back to the engine so the brute doesn't burst
The T.T.I. comes, compelled to start gripping
He pulls back the door, sick starts dripping
A little added bonus for travelling 'Weekend first'

So come back from your travels with your soul in tatters
Your skin all battered and scarred
With a slap on the back, it's "welcome back"
To the ruck of well-wishing cards
All this talk of incendaries in documentaries,
chat shows, signing books
Well it beats despatches and selling matches
And writing to...(Why, Oh why, Oh why?)...Barry Took
(Simon Weston put your orange vest on)

On arrival at Cardiff, paranoia is seeping through
The Canton carriage cleaners have been issued with special suits
They scrub down the windows, hose down the floors
Recover all the seats, bolt up the doors
A red cross daubed and carted off to C.F. Booth

***So come back from your travels...etc.

The man from the ministry's red faced and peeved
He pays off the cleaners, orders them "Stand at ease"
He screams at the foreman "It's not contageous"
Subsequent treatment was quite outrageous
When the tabloids got the scoop
'Haulage by Jason Vorhees'

***So come back from your travels...etc.