I heard he sang a good song.
I heard he had a style.
And so I come 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 I flushed with fever,
Embarrassed by the crowd.
I felt he found my letters
And read each one out loud.
I loved 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.
And he just kept on singing