[Intro] [spoken, over clipped synth pulse] London City, late afternoon. Crew is ready. Manifest is clean. Project executives, families, friends. Bags aboard, doors closing. Nine hours to Punta. [Verse 1] [rapid-fire] London City, engines waiting, Claire has checked the final names, crew in position, cabin ready, everybody knows the game. Project people, friends and family, cases stowed and jackets hung, one more coffee, one more message, then the doors and we are gone. Runway lights and city rooftops, Thames behind us, fading fast, heading south across the water, leaving London in the past. [Pre-Chorus] Nine hours, give or take, nine hours over the blue, a private world at thirty thousand, with a long way left to go. [Chorus] London to Punta, nine hours through the blue, everybody's got a reason, everybody's going too. London to Punta, nothing much to do but fly, nine hours between two worlds, nine hours across the sky. [Verse 2] Conference starts before the coffee, screens are glowing, maps unfold, plans and figures, dates and deadlines, things to build and things to hold. Then the meeting breaks for dinner, someone opens up the bar, games and movies, quiet talking, everybody's where they are. Some are working through the evening, some are stretching out to sleep, some are laughing in the lounge, some are somewhere in between. [Pre-Chorus] Nine hours, cabin moving, day gives way to darker blue, London's already yesterday, Punta's coming into view. [Chorus] London to Punta, nine hours through the blue, everybody's got a reason, everybody's going too. London to Punta, nothing much to do but fly, nine hours between two worlds, nine hours across the sky. [Verse 3] Cabin lights go down to night mode, window shades are closing tight, movies glow across the cabin, work gives way to quiet flight. Some are sleeping, some are talking, some are still awake at three— not because the hour demands it, just because there's time to be. [Pre-Chorus] Nine hours, almost over, afternoon becomes the night, Caribbean underneath us, Punta coming into sight. [Bridge] Wheels come down at Punta Espada, evening settling on the sea, some stay here to join the project, some continue to Bogotá. Different roads from the same runway, different reasons, same old sky, London seems a world behind us— but we were only passing by. [Final Chorus] London to Punta, nine hours through the blue, everybody had a reason, everybody made it through. London to Punta, now the landing lights are bright, nine hours between two worlds, and a brand-new day in sight. [Outro] London City. Punta Espada. Nine hours through the blue.
