Текст: Crosby Stills Nash. Thoroughfare Gap.

Sometimes I consider my pace, I'm reminded of a train
Gathering speed for the climb to the pass in whose shadow
It already lies, a small metal dragon approaching
The ever present ascending rise to the Seventh Mountain

Reeling and snaking, and leaping it seems
That it wants to come loose from it's path cast in iron
But you can't slow down now as the earth has presented
A new crest to reach without barely a rest from the last one

Can you wonder what lies beyond? Though you've been
There before and forget about the effort and the strain
Always ascending, each yard as a mile to the never ending pull
Of the steepening grade that's before you

It's no matter, no distance, it's the ride

A valley, a forest, a desert, a stream and an over sized bridge

For the trickle beneath, you remember the torrent
It turned to last spring from the snow melting fast
And the river it became in the summer

Perhaps it is ruin from a fire that has scorched it
So badly that nothing will grow without rain to wash away
The blackened soil, now useless until called upon again
In a future as distant and far away as the next range of mountains

Then take it as far as you see and beyond
With eyes you don't use enough to gather up strength
As thoroughfare gap, what awaits is whatever you see
When you get there of even before

It's no matter, no distance, it's the ride