| Strumming my pain with hie fingers | |
| Singing my life with his words | |
| Killing me softly with his song | |
| Killing me softly with his song | |
| Telling my whole life wiht words | |
| Killing me softly with his song | |
| I head he song a good song | |
| I head 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 hie fingers | |
| Singing my life with his words | |
| Killing me softly with his song | |
| Killing me softly with his song | |
| Telling my whole life wiht 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 louf | |
| I prayde that he would finish | |
| But he just kept right on | |
| Strumming my pain with hie fingers | |
| Singing my life with his words | |
| Killing me softly with his song | |
| Killing me softly with his song | |
| Telling my whole life wiht words | |
| Killing me softly with his song |
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