Day 2:

Serpents in the branches branch up to heavens door.
Slithering at the windows, hellish intentions wish to explore.
Angels in the darkness hear that tapping on the glass.
They the ones sent down by their god into the abyssal mass

Crawl on their hands and knees while groveling at our feet.
They have heard of the sweet salvation and now crave the teat
That produces the milk of our blessed blessings.
Absolution through suckling is easier than confessing.

Hark! The beloved saints are a falling,
And the golden trumpets are a calling!

Sinners down in the deep
Stir from an endless sleep.
Clawing at the pits torn and ragged walls,
They can now climb what was once too tall.

The trumpets roar is growing louder,
But this only makes the demons prouder.
Hark! Your angels are burning.
Their screams keep the ideas a churning!