School let out at three o' clock I picked Jackson up
I had the tent and the sleeping bags in the back end of the truck
Built a fire up by the lake, watched the sun go down, fell asleep side by side
On Nature's hollowed ground
You may not find me every Sunday sitting on the front row pew
There are other ways of praying, I believe we still get through
The quiet of the backwoods with a boy and a fishing rod
That's just my way of talking to God
Waking to a whippoorwill at the crack of dawn
Sunbeams shining through the pines before the mist is gone
I hear a different drummer when I'm closer to the land
Sometimes I have to get away to find out who I am
You may not find me every Sunday sitting on the front row pew
There are other ways of praying, I believe we still get through
Down a road less traveled, I let go of a lot
That's just my way of talking to God
I don't need a cathedral or tabernacle choir
A mountain stream, cold and clean, gets me inspired
Standing in rainstorm, now some might think it odd
But it's justmy way of talking to God
It's just my way of talking to God