Edgar Allan Poe and Leonardo DiCaprio are stuck in Remote Lighthouse During a Storm and forced to have a deep conversation.

Poe: Ah, DiCaprio, my dear fellow, trapped as we are in this tempestuous tomb, does not the ceaseless moan of the wind mirror the lamentations of a soul forever lost?

DiCaprio: (Shivering, but thoughtful) Man, this storm is brutal. But lost souls? I think even in the darkest depths, there's always a flicker, a chance to claw your way back to the light.

Poe: Light? A fleeting illusion, DiCaprio, a tantalizing promise that inevitably succumbs to the encroaching shadows of despair and decay.

DiCaprio: Nah, I've seen humanity at its worst, Poe, but also at its best. Resilience, hope... they're not illusions; they're survival instincts.

Poe: Instinct? Merely a primal scream against the inevitable, a futile dance with the abyss that calls to us all with siren's song.

DiCaprio: Maybe, but we get to choose the music we dance to, right? Even if it's just for a little while.

Poe: A fleeting melody before the silence… tell me, have you ever stared into the raven's eyes and glimpsed the infinite nothingness beyond?

DiCaprio: I've stared into the eyes of a tiger, Poe, and saw the raw power of life, a force that refuses to surrender.

Poe: And yet, both tiger and man are destined for the grave, their passions and struggles ultimately swallowed by the ceaseless tide of oblivion.

DiCaprio: Maybe. But until then, we fight. We love. We try to leave something real behind, something that echoes in the silence.