Lyrics by Neil Peart



Our first stop is in Bogota

To check Columbian fields

The natives smile and pass along

A sample of their yield

Sweet Jamaican pipe dreams

Golden Acapulco nights

Then Morocco, and the East,

Fly by morning light



We're on the train to Bangkok

Aboard the Thailand Express

We'll hit the stops along the way

We only stop for the best



Wreathed in smoke in Lebanon

We burn the midnight oil

The fragrance of Afghanistan

Rewards a long day's toil

Pulling into Katmandu

Smoke rings fill the air

Perfumed by a Nepal night

The Express gets you there