I am the bleating of the goat set for sacrifice. Some say tragedy is the song for the goat, but it is never considered to be the song of the goat. Hear my song and gaze upon the innocent eyes of a killer. A killer of men, a killer of goats, a killer of gods. You cut his throat and call to your god as his warm blood pools beneath your feet. You've given blood to your god yet he hungers for more. That is when you realize that you are the goat. But it's too late to run - someone has gripped you by the jaw, knife in hand. And there you die as your blood rains toward the earth and becomes one with those you have slain and the slain of the slain, and all those slain before that. For a moment you are atop a pyramid of blood. But you are soon forgotten - blood of your killer rains down on you. God's favor has passed and you are among the wicked.

Hear my song for I am the Temple of Blood.