She's writing, she's writing, 她的写作，她的写作，

She's writing a novel. 她写一本小说。

She's writing, she's weaving, 她的写作，她的编织，

Conceiving a plot. 构思情节。

It quickens, it thickens. 它加快了，它变稠。

You can't put it down now. 你不能把它放下了。

It takes you, it shakes you, 这需要你，它动摇你，

It makes you lose your thought. 它使你失去了你的想法。

But you're caught in your own glory. 但是你夹在自己的荣耀。

You are believing your own stories. 你是相信你自己的故事。

Writing your own headlines. 编写您自己的头条新闻。

Ignoring your own deadlines. 无视自己的最后期限。

But now you've gotta write them all again. 但现在你得再写他们。

   

You think she's an open book, 你觉得她是一个开放的书，

But you don't know which page to turn to, do you? 但你不知道该走哪页面来，你呢？

You think she's an open book, 你觉得她是一个开放的书，

But you don't know which page to turn to, do you? 但你不知道该走哪页面来，你呢？

Do you? Do you? 你呢？你呢？

   

You want her, confront her. 你想她，面对她。

Just open your window. 只要打开你的窗户。

Unbolt it, unlock it, 卸掉它，解开它，

Unfasten your latch. 解开你的锁存器。

You want it, confront it. 你想要它，面对它。

Just open your window. 只要打开你的窗户。

All you really have to do is ask. 你真正需要做的是问。

   

But you're caught in your own glory. 但是你夹在自己的荣耀。

You are believing your own stories. 你是相信你自己的故事。

Timing your contractions. 时序你宫缩。

Inventing small contraptions 发明小玩意儿

That roll across your polished hardwood floors. 在整个抛光硬木地板这卷。

   

You think she's an open book, 你觉得她是一个开放的书，

But you don't know which page to turn to, do you? 但你不知道该走哪页面来，你呢？

You think she's an open book, 你觉得她是一个开放的书，

But you don't know which page to turn to, do you? 但你不知道该走哪页面来，你呢？

Do you? Do you? 你呢？你呢？

   

You think she's an open book, 你觉得她是一个开放的书，

But you don't know which page to turn to, do you? 但你不知道该走哪页面来，你呢？

Do you? Do you? Do you? 你呢？你呢？你呢？