| Strumming my pain with his fingers
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| Singing my life with his words
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| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Killing me softly with his song
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| Telling my whole life with his words
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| Killing me softly with his song
|
| I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
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| And so I came to see him to listen for a while
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| And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes
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| Strumming my pain with his fingers
|
| Singing my life with his words
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Telling my whole life with his words
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd
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| I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud
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| I prayed that he would finish but he just kept right on
|
| Strumming my pain with his fingers
|
| Singing my life with his words
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Telling my whole life with his words
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| He sang as if he knew me in all my dark despair
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| And then he looked right through me as if I wasn’t there
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| And he just kept on singing, singing clear and strong
|
| Strumming my pain with his fingers
|
| Singing my life with his words
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Telling my whole life with his words
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| He was strumming my pain, yeah, he was singing my life
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| Telling my whole life with his words
|
| Killing me softly with his song
|
| With his song |