Not From the Fogs

Not from the fogs, that are dying so fast,
I drink the dews like a magical pheasant.
Kings of the world, engulfed by the past,
Kidnapped in stone and bronze of the present,
Into the morning direct their eyes.
And from the clouds of vain and vanity
New rays of sunshine take off my disguise.
Daylight is served as a drink for humanity.
That is the drink I'll forever adore,
Hiding each hour in the chests of my memory.
Everything matters and works as a door.
Still, I am thirsty and waiting for more:
Under the bottomless sky
Now I'm indulged in my reverie.