Waiting for the tale to begin,

等待着故事开始，

not knowing that we are the tale,

却不知我们就是那个故事，

that it began with us

故事始于我们，

and that with us it will end.

也将终于我们。

There was many a false start

曾有过多次失败的开始，

but always the electrons were busy,

但永远是那些电子们在忙，

that dance in which to perish

那场舞蹈，在其中毁灭

was to survive in a different orbit.

就是幸存在另一条不同的轨道上。

We asked our questions and passed

我们提出我们的问题然后离开。

on. The answer, discovered

答案，其他人找到的，

by others, was to a different question.

针对的是另一个不同的问题。

Yet they, too, had the feeling

然而他们，也，有那种

of having been here before.

之前曾经在这里的感觉。

We are our own ghosts, haunting

我们是我们自己的幽灵，困扰着，

and haunted. We live out a dream,

又被困扰。我们活在梦中，

unable to equate the face

无法将面孔与

with the owner, the voice

主人等同，将声音与

with the speaker, the singer

说话者等同，将歌者与

with the song. Ah, how we thought

歌等同。啊，我们竟以为

science would deliver us, when

科学会拯救我们，然而

all it has done is to set us

它所做的一切只是让我们

circling a little more swiftly

更快一点地围绕着

about a self that is an echo.

一个自我——一个回声——打转。