A lesson in echoes, talking to walls and knowing when to keep your mouth shut

I usually trust acoustics. 
It's sonic law: that if you say something, you'll receive a response.
Sometimes your sentiments are echoed. 
Sometimes they're reverberated, and even if the sonance is muddled, you can still make out the details. 

It's okay to talk to canyons, they'll always reply. 
It's also okay to talk to wells, because—even if they're deep and the answer is delayed—they'll still always talk back. 

It's never okay to talk to padded walls, 
While they absorb, they won't return the favor.

And talking to stuffed animals is useless too, for they don't have very good advice. 

You would think
If you talked to another human—
A living, breathing, feeling human being, 
With a beating heart,
And a sense of decency—
And asked him a question 
You'd get a response. 

Unfortunately, some humans are like padded walls, 
And absorb, but wont return the favor. 
And leave you hanging, 
And things are ambiguous,
And vague,
And you feel like an idiot. 

Perhaps I should just stick to wells.