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 hell, 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