Brian Laidlaw

Poet | Songwriter | Educator



I thought I saw you at the crossroads;

I brought a metal guitar

And heartstrings to barter

Well what a tricky devil you are

I knew you drove a hard bargain

But you’re driving it harder


I see you sipping on your gin

You’ve got a flag of surrender

You’re sly as a madam

I am approaching the origin

Where roads overlap

in a square of macadam


I only get more confused

As I the face gets nearer

You tell me that’s not a muse,

That’s not a muse,

It’s only a mirror


I thought I saw you on the homestead

Out at the basin

Where you wring out the cleaning

Well whatever you’re chasin’

Please don’t mistake

Your labor for your meaning


And I know that you’re bored here

I heard your complaints,

And some of them are valid

Well don’t forget your dear

When you elegize her life

In a country boy ballad


I that heard she overdosed

Somewhere Under a highway road sign

But that’s not a ghost, that’s not a ghost,

It’s only a clothesline


Baby, baby I don’t want to die

Where the stories are tall

Baby, baby I don’t want to die // at all


they say a rolling rock

is where no moss grows

but that’s not a block,

it’s only a crossroads


they say a photo booth

is where to find jesus

but that’s not a truth,

it’s only a thesis


I thought I saw you in the city

The rumors were flying

That you had gone urban

You are living by committee

Eighteen-year women

And eighteen-year bourbon


And the eighteen-wheelers

Still truck to California,

The goods are undercover

I’ve consulted several dealers  

You could use a hobby

Or you could use a lover


if it’s love you lacked

maybe that’s why you’re so dreary

You tell me that’s not a fact

That’s not a fact, it’s only a theory