I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style,
And so I came to see him and listen for a while.
And there he was this young bwoy, 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
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