I heard she sang a good song,
I heard she had a style,

And so I came to see her,
to listen for a while...
And there she was, this young girl,

a stranger to my eyes

Strummin' my pain with her fingers,

Singin' my life with her words,
Killing me softly with her song,
Killing me softly, with her song,

Telling my whole life with her words,
Killing me softly, with her song . . .


I felt all flushed with fever,
embarrassed by the crowd
I felt she found my letters,

and read each one out loud
I prayed that she would finish,
but she just kept right on


Strummin' my pain with her fingers,
Singin' my life with her words,

Killing me softly with her song,
Killing me softly, with her song,
Telling my whole life with her words,

Killing me softly, with her song . . .

She sang as if she knew me,

and all my dark despair
and then she looked right through me,
as if I wasn't there

But she was there, this stranger,
singing clear and strong.


Strummin' my pain with her fingers,
Singin' my life with her words,
Killing me softly with her song,

Killing me softly, with her song,
Telling my whole life with her words,
Killing me softly, with her song . . .