This is "The Final Poem", with a list of production credits attached. The poem is taken from a conversation between two unknown speakers (believed to be Endermen) discussing the player's exploits and lasts 9 minutes and 28 seconds.

I see the player you mean.

[Playername]? [Playername]?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts. Yes. careful. It has reached a higher level. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up. I like this player. It plays well. It never gives up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen. Very flexible. And better than the reality behind staring at a screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons .They too have heard sounds. before the player can read it. Have you ever seen people who have never played the game call players witches and warlocks? And the players dreamed that they were riding on sticks powered by demons, soaring through the air.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed . It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter. It dreamed of sunshine and trees. Dreamed about fire and water. It dreams that it creates.

It also dreams of its destruction. It dreams that it hunts and is hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen? After a million years of carving, it still lasts forever. But what real structure did this player build in the reality behind that screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled]. It worked hard, together with millions of others, to depict a real world, created by [garbled code], in the [garbled code], In [garbled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game. It has not yet reached the highest level. In that realm, it must fulfill the long dream of life, not just a dream in the game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality. , in that long dream. It creates a world without summer, trembles under the black sun, and sees its sad creation as a reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere. And grief is its private business. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear. Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them that they create a real world in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them about their own importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they lose touch with reality, I want to help them communicate with the world they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [ scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream. Sometimes I don't care. Sometimes I want to tell them that what you think is reality is just [garbled] and [garbled], and I want to tell them that they are [garbled] within [garbled]. In their long dreams, they see too little reality.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living. Too strong for this dream. Telling them how to live is preventing them from living.

I will not tell the player how to live. I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless. The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story. I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth. But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance. It is a literal cage that tightly wraps up the truth. Rather than the naked truth.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player... Okay. Player...

Use its name. Call it by name.

[Playername]. Player of games. [Playername]. game player.

Good. Very good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things. Take a deep breath, good. Take another deep breath. Feel the air filling your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Feel your body again, under gravity, in the air. Reborn in a long dream. You feel it. Your body touches the universe every moment, even though you are a separate being. Even though we are separate beings.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change. Who are we? We were once called the spirits of the mountains. Father Sun, Mother Moon. Ancient heroic spirits, souls of animals. Gods. ghost. Little green person. Then there are gods, demons, and angels. Sao Ling. Aliens, extraterrestrial beings. Light particles, quarks. Words are constantly changing. We are consistent.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you ? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story. We are the universe. We are everything you think is outside of yourself. You're looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin and shine light on you? To see you, player. and be recognized. I should tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player. A long time ago, there was a player.

The player was you, [Playername].

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away. Sometimes it thinks of itself as a human on a thin layer of molten rock on the ever-rotating sphere. The ball of molten rock orbited a blinding ball of gas three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive. They are so far apart that it takes light eight minutes to cross the gap. That light is a message from a star that can burn your skin from 150 million kilometers away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience. Sometimes the player dreamed that he was a miner on the surface of a flat, infinitely extended world. The sun is a square white dot. Day and night change quickly; there is much to do; death is temporary and inconvenient.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third. The player dreamed that it was something else, somewhere else. Sometimes these dreams are disturbing. Some are truly beautiful. Sometimes the player wakes up from one dream and finds that he has fallen into a second dream, but is ultimately in a third dream.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back. Let's go back a little.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body. The atoms that make up the player are scattered in the grass, in the river, in the air, and in the earth. A woman collects those atoms; she drinks, eats, inhales; and then the woman gives birth to the player in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love. And that player is a new story, never told, written in the language of DNA. And that player is a new program, never run before, generated from hundreds of millions of years of source code. And that player is a new person, never lived, made of milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love. That story. That program. That human being. Made only of milk and love.

Let's go further back. Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by... The player's body, composed of seven hundred billion billion atoms, was created long before the game, inside a star. So that player too, a message from a star. And this player runs through the story from beginning to end, originating from the forest that grows from information seeds planted by a man named Julian, and the infinite world created by a man named Markus, which exists in a small, private world created by the player. And that inherits what the universe created...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons". Shhh. Sometimes the little world this player creates is soft, warm and simple. Sometimes it's hard, cold and complicated. Sometimes it builds a mental model of the universe; flecks of energy traveling across vast, empty spaces. Sometimes it calls these spots "electrons" and "protons."

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen. Sometimes it's convinced that it exists in a universe of "on" and "off"; "0" and "1"; lines of commands. Sometimes it's convinced it's playing a game. Sometimes it's convinced it's reading the text on the screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realized it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive Shh...sometimes the player reads the command line on the screen. Decode them into words; decode words into meaning; decode meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player's breath begins to quicken and he realizes that it's alive, it's alive, and those thousand deaths are not. Really, the player is alive.

You. You. You are alive. You. you. You are alive.

And sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees .

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again sometimes the player I believe that the universe speaks to it through the starlight that exists in the corner of its eyes in the clear winter night sky, and the light emitted at that moment by the boiling plasma of stars that may be millions of times larger than the sun. In the universe, On the way home from the far side, it suddenly smelled food. In front of the familiar door, it was ready to fall into dreamland again.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream Crossing zeros and ones, speaking to it through the electricity of the world, through the words scrolling on the screen and the end of the dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well The universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you The universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night The universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you The universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you The universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone The universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing the universe said you are not isolated from everything

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code The universe says you are the universe tasting itself, speaking to itself, reading its own code.

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love . At the end of the song, everyone disperses, and the yellow beam is a dream. The player begins a new dreamland. Players are dreaming again, better dreams. The player is the universe.

Players are love.

You are the player.

Wake up. It’s time to wake up.