[Instrumental]

[Spoken]
In Bromine Chambers
There can be no mercy
No bitter flagellation for your sins;
No forgiveness and no sackcloth
Can cease the dance
Of ashes on the wind

Too late now for a wish
To change all wishing;
Too late to change, to breathe, to grow
Too late to smother out the tell-tale footprints
Which mark your passage through the greying snow

[Instrumental]