'The norm'

She had bells on her bootheels,polish on her collar
and every boy near town from miles around.
They'd call her with a promise,she'd offer her forgiveness
and keep her feet set firmly on the ground.
I used to sit and dream of her walking past my window,
a vision in the true sense of the form,
the flutter of that white dress,the little girl grown up to
a little more than what we call the norm.

You'd see her at the dances,she'd sit quietly in the corner
drinking punch and talking to the throng of boys.
I'd be in the other corner and although I can't explain it
I could hear her over all the noise.
She was wearing something subtle,so in the eyes of all the parents
she was doing something to conform.
But she could have come in rags,to us she'd always be
a little more than what we call the norm.

I married her on Sunday and as the townsfolk gathered,
I stared up into those big blue skies.
The woman of my dreams,the reward for all my faith
was standing right before me,in my eyes.
Tonight I'm looking back on the day I started living,
watching rain clouds merge into a storm,
and the tears well in my eyes when I think I used to call her
a little more than what we call the norm.