I Am Not Jesus

What was up with all that mix with the keys? The weed? The transfer of seed? Undone, not unlike me, I come into a tree- and randomly free myself of my street, I come up on a beat, and leak out my literal leaf, and ache at the pillory awaiting the generation of me. I don’t want nothin’ bad to happen, but what does one trigger hand have in battle? I would rather the peace be kept, and my life be given instead, I would rather a dead man be kept, than his resurrection come once again- I would hate heaven to see me, when I curse at people who don’t see me, I would adapt to another's kin, if he didn’t feel the need to always resurrect them…