If I Was Provocative, And Indicative To Myself

If I was provocative, and indicative to myself
Would thy hand, and the heart of wealth
Miserable bastard, of self-righteous heed
There is the wealth, in this heart that I bleed

For I am as open as the stars in the sea
As substance is piercing through me
Shall I not, shed winters alone in my bed
Less I be burdened, by the thoughts of my head

Hark you horny devils with chimes
Prim for the posies and pestilence rhyme
Mark me nay nor ye me less, then to thy heart
Ebb by my innocence alone by my tread

Foolish old devils you're better off dead
Goose pimple party upon my own bones
Less ye be death, then mar then not to mock
Thy beauty ebbed in my heart where thou art

Miserable bastard, of self-righteous morals
No longer shall I weep for your lonely sorrows
Less ye know thy faith, and firm but not faint
Then to live and foresee, possible future that lie in our wait