Insincere

Sometimes when I'm quiet and by myself
I do remember what it's like to be on the hunt
I usually manage to eliminate myself from those memories
I think it must be some kind of self-protection device
But occasionally, occasionally I do coldly recall
The complete lack of sincerity it takes to be successful
The total dedication to the concepts of
Deception, manipulation, and personal gain

Something soft and indiscreet
Something insincere but sweet
Making mildly sordid sounds
Sees its shadow on the ground

The memory thing is kind of like eating
We don't bother to remember what it felt like
Eating that steak when we were really hungry
Slicing into the charred flesh and watching
As the ruby juice flows from the fresh incision
And out onto the otherwise pristine plate
And the same single-minded dedication that goes into eating that steak
Duplicates itself in the pursuit of physical pleasure
Hunger and sexual gratification, is there anything else?
Steaks and orgasms, how empty life would be without them