Is there a more perfect time for napping than a dreary Monday afternoon in late March? Would that I could go home, curl up in my Snuggie, er, comforter and snooze away the rest of the day. Sadly, a late afternoon trip to Sleepytown — take your first left after Funkytown, you can’t miss it — just ain’t in the cards. Instead, I think I’ll lean back at my desk, close my eyes and listen to this track courtesy of one Mr. Neil Cleary over and over again.

Gold star to the first person to correctly identify the tune. And a silver star to the first person to correctly complete the lyric in the heading of this post . . . wink wink . . .

Note: star offers not valid for Neil Cleary.

Dan Bolles is a culture coeditor at Seven Days. He joined the paper in 2007 as its music editor, covering Vermont's robust music, comedy and nightlife scenes for a decade before deciding he was too old to be going to the Monkey House on weeknights to see rock shows for a living. He became assistant arts editor in 2017 and culture coeditor in 2021. Bolles has received numerous local and national awards for his writing on Vermont arts, sports and the occasional celebrity canine murder mystery. He loves...

6 replies on “But I Would Lay You Down . . .”

  1. Hey, if “Starfucker” on the internets, then certainly “and fuck your brains out.” But since the silver’s off the table, I’ll just add the little reminder above makes que sera suck just a little bit less. Thanks.

  3. As I told Neil, this underscores the compositional soundness and melodic complexity of The Pants, even if it is fuck all silly.

  4. Oh . . . right. Good point there, Ty. Disregard the silver star award. That was sofa king silly of me. . .

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