H.P. Lovecraft and John Lennon are stuck in Trapped Elevator in a Mine Shaft and forced to have a deep conversation.

"Blast this infernal conveyance!" Lovecraft rasped, clutching his chest, "The claustrophobia, the *void* pressing in...it echoes the cosmic indifference that awaits us all."

"Ah, come off it, mate," Lennon drawled, lighting a cigarette, "Maybe it's just a dodgy cable, not the creeping doom of Azathoth. Gimme some peace."

"Peace? In the face of such palpable, subterraneous horror? You misunderstand the fundamental insignificance of mankind, John."

"Insignificant, maybe, but we've got each other, haven't we? And a shared predicament. That's gotta count for something."

"Shared suffering is merely a prelude to individual annihilation, a temporary reprieve before the ultimate, uncaring oblivion."

"Oblivion, shmivion. I reckon even in the blackest dark, there's a little light to be found. A song, a connection, y'know?"

Lovecraft shuddered. "Such naive optimism in the face of the unyielding cosmos...it borders on blasphemy."

"Blasphemy? Now you're talkin' my language! Maybe this whole thing's a metaphor, man, for the system keeping us down."

"A metaphor for the utter meaninglessness of existence, perhaps. A cage built by forces beyond our comprehension."

"Or maybe," Lennon grinned, exhaling smoke, "just a broken elevator. Either way, let's write a tune about it, eh?"