History has drawn these lines across my face
With bones through flesh, and will it always be this way?
A change of hands again, clandestine operative
You gun me down when I've got nothing left to give

A tragedy is written—inked in red
Words bleed onto pages—I try to raise the dead
A tragedy is written—inked in red
Words bleed onto pages—I try to raise the dead

I count the dying hours underneath the burning skies
I'm running through the forests in the dead of night
Each way I turn I'm searching for a guiding light
But there just don't seem to be any signs of life

So here I go again, I'm crawling on my knees
Through the jagged era of uncertainty
With my incompetence, it's painted on my face
And I am left here wondering when I'll leave this place

A tragedy is written—inked in red
Words bleed onto pages—I try to raise the dead
A tragedy is written—inked in red
Words bleed onto pages—I try to raise the dead

I count the dying hours underneath the burning skies
I'm running through the forests in the dead of night
Each way I turn I'm searching for a guiding light
But there just don't seem to be any signs of life
Whoa, as it seems that this life is a waking dream
Ohh, as it seems that this life is a waking dream

I count the dying hours underneath the burning skies
I'm running through the forests in the dead of night
Each way I turn I'm searching for a guiding light
But there just don't seem to be any signs of life