Black Goat of the Woods

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