...on the backs of flying pigs

I view you through my looking glass/ as you ride the backs of flying pigs/ while we wallow low in mud and filth/
I envy you and watch you live the life I want/ we stalk and stare and dream vicariously through your ways/
we see you on the daily tube/ we watch you breath/ we watch you move/ we are the eyes that lurk behind the
cameras facing you/ we make shows and plays and books for you/ and you look down from your pedastol/
bauching at everything that doesn't cater to your specific whims/ the mystery of how I know everything about
you and you don't know that I exist/ I wish I chose a path of fame/ instead I lie in the flames of obscurity
and private living/ out of sight and out of mind and out of my mind I write these lines/ we all just want to matter...