the thief of baghdad

what words we have lack meaning and true force
there's nothing that can quite meet with the case
the truth can shove itself right in each face
but we won't be diverted from the chosen course
the signals are encoded a kind of sacred morse
we've got to fit ourselves into the proper space
to claim our knowledge is an especial grace
and that we follow the mighty hero on white horse
still the words don't tell us half of what we need
what we've been told so sadly is just a plain lie
there's nothing here that's left to show the way
yet we're supposed to follow a straight road
the real estate we were promised is clear sky
it disappears entirely at the end of day
what we've got left seems swiftly to erode