[bad word] 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 heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style
And so I came to see him, to listen for a while
And there he was, this young boy, a stranger to my eyes
 [bad word] 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, embarassed by the crowd
I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud
I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on
 [bad word] 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

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
But he was there, this stranger, singing clear and loud
 [bad word] 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

Сказали, что талантлив, что песни хороши
Я посмотреть зашла и послушать для души
И вот он этот парень, впервые вижу я
Струны души задевая,
История жизни звучит
Песней своей убивает
Песней своей убивает
Всю мою жизнь излагает
Песней ведь можно убить*
Смущенная жалела, что полон этот зал
Откуда знал он письма, зачем он их читал?
Молилась, чтоб молчал он, но он лишь продолжал
Он пел, как будто рядом со мной все время был
Но не узнал меня он, как будто позабыл
Но песня продолжалась, громко и легко
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