| 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 | 
| Each one out loud. | 
| 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 … |