Johnny Depp and Maya Angelou are stuck in Museum Exhibit Malfunction and forced to have a deep conversation.

Here's their conversation:

"Blast it all," Depp muttered, fiddling with a dangling pirate's earring, "stuck amidst these dusty relics. Feels a bit like my own life, innit?"

"Ah, Johnny," Angelou's voice resonated, calm and strong, "but even in ruins, there is still the possibility of resurrection, of finding beauty in the broken."

"Beauty, you say? I've chased beauty my entire life, only to find shadows lurking in the corners," Depp sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"The shadow simply reminds you of the light's capacity, my dear," Angelou responded, her eyes twinkling in the dim emergency lighting, "it allows gratitude to blossom."

"Gratitude? Hard to come by when one's portrayed as a villain in their own bloody story," Depp grumbled, kicking a stray piece of plaster.

"But who writes the story, Johnny? Only you, in how you choose to live it forward, in the forgiveness you offer yourself," Angelou asserted gently.

"Forgiveness...a tall order when the world's baying for your blood," Depp replied, his voice laced with weariness.

"The world's baying is merely a reflection of its own internal chaos, child," Angelou countered, "find peace within yourself, and the baying will fade to a whisper."

"Perhaps," Depp mused, gazing at a nearby Egyptian sarcophagus, "perhaps there's still a chance to rewrite the ending, to emerge from this tomb."

"There is always a chance, Johnny," Angelou smiled knowingly, "the cage bird sings, even in captivity, because it still has a song to sing."