Yeah…
Ain’t gotta be in a pew to talk to God.
Sometimes the holy hits you
right where the world forgot.

Streetlight hummin’ like a tired hymn,
Engine off but the world still spins.
Fast food bags and a Bible on the dash,
Half tank left, full heart in the crash.
Got Sunday scars, Friday sins,
Tryna find peace in the place I been.
Talkin’ to the stars through a cracked windshield,
Faith don’t need walls to be real.

These are my parking lot prayers,
Talkin’ to the night like somebody cares.
No robe, no choir, just a smoke in the air,
And a whisper that I’m still here somewhere.
Yeah, these are my parking lot prayers,
Little bits of hope in the midnight glare.
Ain’t holy, but I’m honest, swear—
And maybe that’s enough right there.

Got a voicemail from my past I ain’t played yet,
Words I said sober still make me sweat.
Forgiveness ain’t cheap but I’m payin’ slow,
Leanin’ on faith I barely know.
The neon flicker like it’s keepin’ beat,
To every promise I forgot to keep.
The ground ain’t gold, but it feels divine,
Right here, right now, this mess is mine.

These are my parking lot prayers,
Talkin’ to the night like somebody cares.
No robe, no choir, just a smoke in the air,
And a whisper that I’m still here somewhere.
Yeah, these are my parking lot prayers,
Little bits of hope in the midnight glare.
Ain’t holy, but I’m honest, swear—
And maybe that’s enough right there.

If the church doors close,
I’ll find God in the glow
Of a cigarette tip and a radio low.
If the saints don’t show,
Then I’ll sing solo,
‘Cause grace don’t care
Where the lost ones go.

Ainlookin’ for crowns, just quiet,
Tryna find peace, not a riot.
I seen angels in motel lights,
And love in the middle of fights.
Every broken road still leads somewhere,
Even if it ends in a folding chair.
So I bow my head, take a breath,
Thank the stars I still got some left.
And a whisper that I’m still here somewhere.
Yeah, these are my parking lot prayers,
Little bits of hope in the midnight glare.
Ain’t holy, but I’m honest, swear—
And maybe that’s enough right there.

(whispered)
Sometimes faith don’t come in Sunday clothes.
Sometimes it’s just breathin’
and lettin’ go.