等待着故事开始，

Waiting for the tale to begin,

却不知我们就是那个故事，

not knowing that we are the tale,

故事始于我们，

that it began with us

也将终于我们。

and that with us it will end.

曾有过多次失败的开始，

There was many a false start

但永远是那些电子们在忙，

but always the electrons were busy,

那场舞蹈，在其中毁灭

that dance in which to perish

就是幸存在另一条不同的轨道上。

was to survive in a different orbit.

我们提出我们的问题然后离开。

We asked our questions and passed

答案，其他人找到的，

on. The answer, discovered

针对的是另一个不同的问题。

by others, was to a different question.

然而他们，也，有那种

Yet they, too, had the feeling

之前曾经在这里的感觉。

of having been here before.

我们是我们自己的幽灵，困扰着，

We are our own ghosts, haunting

又被困扰。我们活在梦中，

and haunted. We live out a dream,

无法将面孔与

unable to equate the face

主人等同，将声音与

with the owner, the voice

说话者等同，将歌者与

with the speaker, the singer

歌等同。啊，我们竟以为

with the song. Ah, how we thought

科学会拯救我们，然而

science would deliver us, when

它所做的一切只是让我们

all it has done is to set us

更快一点地围绕着

circling a little more swiftly

一个自我——一个回声——打转。

about a self that is an echo.