| 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,
 | 
| Killing me softly with his song …
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| I heard he sang a good song,
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| I heard he had a style.
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| And so I came to see him to listen
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| For a while.
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| And there he was this young boy,
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| a stranger to my eyes.
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| Strumming my pain with his fingers,
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| 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 …
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| I felt all flushed with fever,
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| Embarrassed by the crowd,
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| I felt he found my letters and read
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| Each one out loud.
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| I prayed that he would finish but he
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| 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
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| As if I wasn’t there.
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| But he just came to singing, singing
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| 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, he was singing my song.
 | 
| 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…
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| With his song … |