| 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
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| To listen for a while
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| And ther 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
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| Killing me softly with his song
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| 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
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| I feelt all fushed with fever
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| Embarassed by the srowd
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| I fellt he found my letters
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| And read each one out loud
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| I prayed that he would finish
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| But he just kept right on
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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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| He sang as if he knew me
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| In all my dark despair
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| And then he looked right right throught me
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| As if I wasn’t there
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| But he was there this strannger
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| Singing clear and strong
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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 |