You can tap me like a tin can,
and hear me echo, end to end.
You can plop me down and fold me,
and surely I will bend.
You can kick me down the sidewalk,
and see me tumble on the cracks.
You can stick your hand inside me,
and fumble through this empty sack.
Going hollow is prerequisite,
before we’re set to punch that clock.
Going hollow is the mantra,
before we turn that fastened lock.