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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... |
|
I heard he sang a good song |
|
I heard he had a style |
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And so I came to see him to listen for a while |
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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 |
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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 was not there |
|
And he just kept on 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 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 |
