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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 Letras de cancionesOur heads are bowed I 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 in 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 pool Feel the odd one out? Who the joke's about? That 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 worksite bar of clock-eyed 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 answers, so then who's to say? But only self-hatred could explain his rage There's a special Hell that we built for ourselves And it's handed down in homes and playgrounds From Letras Mania