Drumming my pain with his fingersSinging my life with his wordsKilling me softly with his songKilling me softly with his songTelling my whole life with his wordsKilling me softly with his songI heard he sang a good songI heard he had a styleAnd so I came to youI came to see himTo listen for a whileAnd there he was, this young boyA stranger to my eyesDrumming my pain with his fingersSinging my life with his wordsKilling me softly with his songKilling me softly with his songTelling my whole life with his wordsKilling me softly with his songstrongStrongI felt all flushed with feverEmbarrassed by the crowdI felt he'd found my lettersAnd read each one out loudI felt he'd found my lettersI prayed that he would finish, but he just kept straddling my pain with his fingers, singing my life with his words, killing me softly with his songs, killing me softly with his songs.He sang as if he knew me in all my darkest days, and then he looked right through me as if I wasn't 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 songs, killing me softly with his songs, telling my whole life with his words, killing me softly.He sang as if he knew me in all my darkest days, and then he looked right through me as if I wasn't 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 songs, killing me softly with his songs, telling my whole life with his words, killing me softly.He sang as if he knew me in all my darkest days, and then he looked right through me as if I wasn't there.He sang as if he knew me in all my darkest days, and then he looked right through me as if I wasn't there.