Текст песни Роберт Рождественский - Баллада о таланте

Everybody says:
"His talent is from God!"
And if - from the devil?
What then? ..

Lining up slowly in an era
neither wobbly nor roll
the years passed.
And talent lived.
Sick.
Ridiculous.
Frowning.
Who knew Homer by heart,
He was considered
my creature
then still existing
the God.
God found his syllable to be beautiful,
that on earth such -
at a glance! ..

But of course I didn't agree with God
then not canceled
heck.
The devil whispered to talent:
"Come to your senses,
mediocrity!
Who needs your poetry now ?!
After all, you are like everyone else
you will perish in the abyss of hell.
Relax!
Do not burden the guilt. "
And the talent went to the tavern.
And -
relaxed.
He drank seriously!
He is inspired
drank!
I drank so
that the devil looked and was touched.
talent
yourself talented
ruined! ..

the God
also did not doze!
In a fragile closet
where is the table
pen
and a bottle of ink
god arose
repentance in the morning,
cryptic lines
teased ...
Talent got up
scratching sleepily.
Lost identity
gained.
And the bank
cucumber pickle
he needed it more
than nectar ...
Unshaven.
With dry lips.
He waited stubbornly
its hour ...

And the lines
on the paper
stood out
like writing, -
separate from it.

And there was so much anger and pressure
at its very origin
these lines! ..
Talent, like a bear
walked
on god!
And hell
twisted
into a ram's horn! ..
The talent worked.
Evil.
Fiercely.
Feather dipping
into your own pain.
Now he was a god!
And he was a devil!
This means:
was
yourself.
And the sun was rising
over the line! ..

The devil was baptized.
And God swore.
“How could he
to write
is that ?! "
...And he
not like that
could.