Lyrics Mathilda - Nada Surf

They used to call me Mathilda
My mama kept my hair long
I was more pretty than handsome
And I was not very strong
My voice was kinda high, not a typical guy

They used to call me Mathilda
I was never sure why
I felt bad about it
But I didn't get mad
I got sad about it
But I was all that I had

Where's this order coming from?
Do you hear it like a drum?
From back in time
Do you feel like who you are?
Are you driven from afar?
Along for the ride
There's a manner in your town
There's no way to turn it 'round
Why even try?

Just kids, we have our tests
Look at your nails, is your palm out?
If you hold your hands, unlike a man
It's not allowed
We start out young, it's too much fun
To laugh out loud
We think we're free, but we don't see
Our heads are bowed
Our heads are bowed

Read somewhere that women will
Worry most 'bout being killed
When with a new guy
Men on dates, they ridicule
It's this thing they knew at school
And it still applies

Sometimes nothing is better
Than anything made of words and letters
And looks and gestures, blank is clean
Blank is a peaceful, empty scene
In your private self, you make some room
And have some space
You wake your loves up one by one
And make them safe
And make them safe

Who knows how many in a room
Feel the odd one out, who the joke's about?
Black feeling, that loneliness
Hangs over like a curse
Over like the first
Where's this order coming from?
Do you hear it like a drum?
From back in time

Though it's all around, I still wonder
Why we can't move on
And we still bear arms
And we still make fun out of anyone

Picture a workside bar
Of clock-out drinking
And then go inside
Do you feel that vibe?
Something makes me think
Someone wants to fight
There's a drive to quell
What we hate in ourselves

If it's in the Bible, then you know it's old
And if it's in nature, then it's been foretold
That a slice of our numbers
Will feel this way
It's not something we discuss
Between guys who are straight

And then I looked up
"Was Fred Phelps gay?"
But I found no answers
So then who's to say?
But only self-hatred could explain his rage
There's a special Hell that we build for ourselves
And it's handed down in homes and playgrounds