Lyrics Mathilda - Nada Surf

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
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
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 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?
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