Rachel Delevoryas, with her thick eye glasses and her plain-jane face, sat beside me in her fifth grade class, looking so terribly out of place,
Rachel played the violin, and classical music was out of style,
She couldn't control all her wild brown hair, her nervous laughter and her awkward smile.
And it was clear that she'd never be one of us,
With her dowdy clothes, and her violin, and a name like Rachel Delevoryas.
But I'd pass by her house in the evening, going to play with my best friend, Ray,
And the music floating from her window spoke the things that Rachel could never say.
Rachel Delevoryas was eating her lunch as the boys walked by,
"Rachel is ugly," she heard them shout,
She sat on the schoolyard bench and cried.
And it was clear that she'd never be one of us,
With her dowdy clothes, and her violin, and a name like Rachel Delevoryas.
And every year the hedge got higher as it grew around Rachel's house, like the secret wall inside her that she built to keep all the heartache out.
Rachel Delevoryas moved back east with her family,
Now she's dressed in a beautiful gown, standing on stage with the symphony,
Rachel plays the violin,
But every night when the lights go down, I wonder if she still remembers those days, and cruel little boys in this one horse town.
And it was clear that she'd never be one of us,
With her dowdy clothes, and her violin, and a name like Rachel Delevoryas,
A name like Rachel Delevoryas.
