You have the soul of an herbivore, Bill.
You follow the herd into work every day,
And you toil exactly as ruminants graze:
Slowly, unceasingly, hours on end.
Your thoughts are the herd's. You don't
Analyze anything. If any bell cow sets
Off, so will you.  I have no idea whether 

You like your life. Perhaps you don't know
If you do.

I, on the other hand, live like a predator,
Acting in spasms, long rests in between,
During which I'm observing your fellows,
The herd. I'm looking for weakness,
For times I should strike. I analyze
Everything. I am alone, and, as such,
I am vulnerable, also unhappy, as
Predators typically are.