[Intro]
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

[Instrumental Break]

[Verse 1]
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?
[Refrain]
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

[Verse 2]
I read somewhere that women will
Worry most 'bout being killed
When with a new guy
Men on dates fear ridicule
It's the sting they knew at school
And it still applies

[Refrain]
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
[Verse 3]
Who knows how many in a group
Feel the odd one out
Who the joke's about?
That feeling, that loneliness
Hangs over like a curse
Over like a thirst
Where's this order coming from?
Do you hear it like a drum
From back in time?

[Outro]
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 worksite bar of clockout 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 somethin' we discuss between guys who are straight
And then I looked up, "Was Fred Phelps gay?"
But I found no answer, 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