| 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 heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style.
|
| And so I came to see him to listen for a while.
|
| And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes.
|
| 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.
|
| And then he looked right through me as if I wasn't there.
|
| But he just came to 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, oh, 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 ...
|
| With his song ... |