My father taught me that if you put a string on the end of an empty soup can

You can get in contact with people you thought were lost

My father taught me not to throw anything away

And that includes past relationships and favors

That have gone unfulfilled

I have a pile of them growing in the corner of my living room now

Disconnected lines that play games with guests

Trying to get them to guess

Who came into my life only to cut ties so soon

When I put them up to my ear now

All I hear is the beeeeeeep

Of the ocean

It's useless to use a can as a water canteen

When you can't even drink what's inside

Still

My father taught me how to recycle

You can use soup cans as a simple container

To hold all the relics of your recollection

If I put little wicks at the bottom of them all

Put those tragic troughs of tin to good use like you always say

Maybe we can have us a candlelit dinner

It'll be like old times again, wouldn't it

When we were civil-like

And we used can openers to take off the tops of soup cans

Not our bare hands

When you do it like that

It gets all serrated along the edges see

Then it becomes more like a knife

Then it becomes a means to cut ties

Rather than to keep them

And we don't want that

If I hold it up to my ear

I can still hear your voice on the other end

But if you take off the top with your bare hands

Then it becomes more like a knife

Then it becomes a means to cut ties

Rather than to keep them

And we don't want that.