Mathilda

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