Testo Looks Like Yoda

In a world of devoid of emancipation Like leaves too many question marks On my conscience, why? Why look up The ground is so much more pleasing And it's where these eyes belong I renounce, I renounce myself What I have become is not What I wish to be Break my neck I've become too accustomed to hopes Hope's cruel grasp Progression or regression It all ends the same In a world devoid Emotionless In a life such as this Only death is certain So why wait Break my heart Cut my throat When everything has ended What have we accomplished Slaves by design Break my neck