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"Credits" redirects here. For the Easter egg dimension, see Java Edition 20w14∞ § World generation .
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The " end poem " is a text-based dialogue that appears when the player uses the exit portal . It is followed by the Minecraft credits.
After entering The End dimension for the first time and killing the ender dragon , the exit portal is activated, allowing the player to jump in and view the end poem followed by the credits. Afterwards, the player is teleported to their spawn point if available, or the world spawn point if not. The poem and credits are only shown the first time the player enters the exit portal in a world.
The end poem and credits can be successively speed up by holding Space , then additionally Ctrl , then the other Ctrl . [ Java Edition only ] Or they can be skipped entirely by pressing Esc in Java Edition or "skip" in Bedrock Edition .
The credits can also be accessed by clicking on the copyright information on the main menu screen in Java Edition or by pressing the "credits" button in the "profile" section of the Settings screen in Bedrock Edition . They can also be viewed on the Minecraft website. [1]
The poem and the credits last for a total of 39 minutes 30 seconds. [ verify ] The credits alone last for approximately 31 minutes and 48 seconds.
The poem itself takes the form of a dialogue between two unidentified speakers who are discussing the player's accomplishments. It lasts seven minutes and forty two seconds. After the poem is finished, the credits play. During the poem and credits, the track credits.ogg ("Alpha" in the official soundtrack ) plays.
In Java Edition , The End Poem and credits are stored in client.jar ; the text of the End Poem is located in assets/minecraft/texts/end.txt , the text of the credits is in assets/minecraft/texts/credits.json , and the text of the quote is in assets/minecraft/texts/postcredits.txt . In Bedrock Edition , the text of the End Poem is located in data/credits/end.txt , the text of the credits is in data/credits/credits.json , and the text of the quote is in data/credits/quote.txt . They can both be edited with a resource pack . The first speaker's dialog uses the formatting code §3 (or dark aqua), and the second speaker's uses §2 (or dark green). The player's name is inserted with PLAYERNAME , and the scrambled text is stored as §f§k§a§b . The poem is shown the first time the player enters the exit portal based on their seenCredits [ JE only ] ( hasSeenCredits [ BE only ] ) tag being 0 ( false ), after which it is changed to 1 ( true ) once the player enters the exit portal.
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
I like this player. It played well. It did not give 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.
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.
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.
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?
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] .
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.
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
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.
To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. 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 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.
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.
I will not tell the player how to live.
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
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.
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.
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.
Once upon a time, there was a player.
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 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 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.
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
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.
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.
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
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...
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".
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.
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 realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was 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
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
and the universe said you have played the game well
and 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
and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you
and the universe said the light you seek is within you
and the universe said you are not alone
and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing
and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking 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.
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
It was actually said by Harriett Jackson Brown Jr. in his book, P.S. I Love You . [3]
The quote at the end of the credits.
Notch tweeted, putting out a call for writing talent to write "silly over-the-top out-of-nowhere text" for the end of the game.
The writer Julian Gough [4] wrote what has become known as the End Poem.
Later, Notch stated that Gough's short story The iHole convinced him that Gough was the right person to write the End Poem. [5]
Added the End poem and the credits. The file containing the End Poem is called win.txt.
The file containing the End Poem is
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