| 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,
|
| 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
|
| 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 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…
|
| With his song … |