I'm not a debaucher

This is my message to you,
Under my voice lies no sense of seduction
It will be my left soul I shall give thee
For the glory of the former days are fast gone
I sealed with those peppermint tears
Oozing forth the taste of the Caribbean sea.

Indeed, those voices round your nape were hurtless,
with those chimney libidinal breath that ceaseth not.
To see today overwhelm my mood, puts me to blame
Under those catchy voices, were insane and adult.
That took you to the moon, like aged illusive tales.

I am not sorry for my voices,
Which unwore your clad of naivety.
Again, that made your tits stand transparent,
Or that made your ladyhood quake in the blues
Or that left your underwear wet like the morning dew.

I am not worthy to be called a debaucher,
Those voices were natural and unalloyed
Free from satanic beatitude,
That touches the gland of the mighty repentant,
Wherethrough it tickles you in-depth of unavoided orgasm.