Gliding along upon a bird
just soaring through the air,
a great big goat did sing a song,
a song both true and fair.
His tune descended through the clouds
past mountains, hills, and streams,
and found its way into a town,
a town still deep in dreams.
It wrenched a butcher from his sleep
and bolting up in bed,
the man exclaimed, "it's beautiful!
So beautiful." he said.
The butcher leapt up out his door
and running through the streets
he found nobody singing songs,
just singing songs so sweet.
But as he looked, he saw about
his town folk all around
with hands all cupped to ears that strained,
that strained to hear the sound.
They all gazed upward to the sky
into the starry night
to see the one who sang this song,
this song so gay and bright.
And then he came from out the sky,
the town folk saw and heard
those beating wings, that mighty goat,
that goat upon his bird.
And suddenly the singing stopped
the goat let out a cry,
"Domesticate us not you fiends!
You fiends now all shall die!"
They froze in fright, they screamed in fear
they tried to run inside,
but William Edward Goat was there.
There was no place to hide.
He swooped in low and skewered the men
on adamantine horns.
Bodies lay all gored and mangled,
mangled, ripped, and torn.
The mighty bird dispensed the rest
grasping in his talons,
crushing, squeezing out their blood.
Their blood poured by the gallons.
And when the last lay broke and dead
the goat got off his bird.
From pens and barns he freed his folk,
his folk, the mighty herd.
The herd, now free to roam the fields
and pastures as before,
now turned to thank that mighty goat,
the goat they all adored.
But William Edward Goat had gone
his work was never done.
His folk, his goats, were still enslaved,
enslaved by humandom.
The herd had lost them from their sight,
that blessÚd goat and bird,
but high up in the morning sky,
his song, they clearly heard.
His song was fair. His song was true.
His song was bright and gay.
His song, he sang with all his heart
of all he'd won that day.