The goat keeper is mourning, because night has stolen his keep
The dark reveals the charge, these woods can procreate

In the royal court of [bad word]  he is a jester
Bound tight to Satan's will, he lives to serve
All the others roam the hills, their conscience free to make believe
The Black Goat waits with ease, waits for the night to see

He never shows, 'cause of susceptibility
Grinding the bones of infants to make his morning tea
The Black Goat of the woods is hiding in shame
Causing Pain

But on the battlefield, his sceptre turns to steel
And all who meet his blade know his name

Recreated, the sins of man his repertoire
See him changing, his evil's taking form

Pieces passed down through the ages, they fill him now
Sated, he murmurs ancient phrases, hear the Black Goat's song

Displayed on altars
Displayed on altars