Terminal Kaleidoscope/P.I.A.S. editions have a slightly different cover from the original.

Soleilmoon CD edition features new cover artwork and a lyric booklet. It was initially available as part of Lullabies For The New Dark Ages, a limited edition box set of the first four albums.

from Bandcamp: The Dots’ debut on vinyl and still a sensitive subject among band members past and present. I guess a case of “If we could do it all over again…….”  Having said that the suite on the second side, “The Wedding” and “Premonition 4” have withstood the ravages of time well I think. -EK

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Lyrics

Red Castles

Maidens in towers and knights on the town; shields up convinced that the barricade’s down. Fighting in bars… they were biting the cars

Two aches in the head, H20 in the wine. Two hits off the mirror to help you unwind. You learned how to drink. You’ll turn now to a shrink. And he’ll say that you are king of the castle. Your glory excels in here… Blood on the bypass. You’re passing the pills. They’re painted and plastic, they make you feel ill. They make you kick in the night. You’re sick in the light.

A tramp chews a dog-end. A dog chews a tramp, Tears holes in his raincoat and howls because it’s damp. He chokes on a coin and we count up to nine. Ah, but he’s king in his castle. His glory excels in here. Pagans in showers and kites on the Downs. Polka-dot patterns and strings turning brown. They shut out the sun. Oh, wot jolly fun! But we’re kings in our castles.

Louder After 6

A click says you’re connected and a buzz says that you’re heard. Fingers slide across a panel. They’re recording every word… Try to talk about the weather. Don’t say anything absurd ‘Cause their tapping the phone again… insane!

Invitations from the Kremlin… Interference on the line. Dial a friend to find some comfort; stroke her nicely and she’ll tell the time. And a voice checks in the distance “Christ, it’s nearly half past nine!” Tapping the phone again – what a pain!

Give away a little secret and it ends up in the file numbered EK5320. In the archives for a while. They’re taking notes, flicking switches, feeding programs, reading dials. They’re tapping the phone again – nice!

And the bill lands on the doormat, calls to Moscow… calls to Mars. You’d call the cavalry to save you, but you can’t afford the charge. Cut the wires! Axe the pylons! Such fun to sabotage. Attack your phone again.

Take a cleaver to your receiver. Attack your phone. Take the pliers to the wires. Attack your phone. Attack attack attack attack attack

[ I digitized the last part of “LA6” and played it back at half-speed. It seems the high-pitched stuff at the end is Edward’s voice. This is what I could figure out. Most of it fades in and out, with two different conversations going on in the different channels. These are not done perspective to each other (they don’t match by time).] — st. andrew ]

        LEFT CHANNEL                          RIGHT CHANNEL  ...over my...                           ...oh, that's good, yes...  ...very nervous...                      ...i feel very nervous, well...  ...i want every big hole, y'know        the red ones... the brick ones...  ...it's all fall out...                 yeah, yeah, no, no, really?  ...throw it out, okay?...               well, she should have gone out...                                         three pence a pair! Three pence! I ...she well i ... i call my             was talking with Mrs. Smith and she sweetmeat because y'know, he            said pop it in the car double by reminds me of...                        Christmas!... Mrs. Fuller who's been                                         [around] our house the past two weeks. ...terrible...                          She's a whore!! [For the] bags!!!  We're having a conversation here,       ...perhaps she should... stop!!                                         ...crossed the line...                                          ...look, do you mind? We're trying to                                         have a sensible conversation here.                                         Will you please get off the line?                                         Put the phone down! Right away! I                                                insist!

The Wedding

You asked for nothing. That’s what I gave you – ash for ashes, dust for dust. Your trust is touching, but misguided… Bride, I’ll be yours for one night. I wander. I wonder really what you saw in me — I’m not your type at all… And all the angels hold their breath as my eyes rest upon the pretty girl who leads the choir. They cry out their disgust for me. They are crying for my bride who smiles in white, does not suspect my next move in the game. Again! “I’ll honor you and cherish you.” Again! “I’ll share my worldly goods” Again… ’til death, when we’re parted. Only words don’t mean a thing… I think of ways to run. The sun paints patterns on the stained-glass windows. Widows in their Sunday best reflect about when they too were brides. They can’t hide their feelings as they steal seconds from an age they’ll never see again. Again! “With this ring I pledge myself”… Again! (“I do. I do. Shoo be doo doo wah…”) Why do we have to be so humble and mumble words we never mean? It’s obscene, the ultimate obscenity… this serenity on Sunday, we’re stars on Sundays. Smiles on straight! Maybe one day rewards will be there for us Just for us in heaven. Just for us amen amen…. The end.

Apocalypse Then

“And so it came to pass that a flag flew in every window and widows handed poppies out in the square… And squares were bashed and majors barked and marching music laughed from the airwaves. The waves were there to rule again. We had the ambition. We had the ammunition… A mission in the name of God… In the name of “democracy”, demo-crazy.

Die down! Lie down! You forfeited your right to survive.

I clutched at your sleeve and we danced in the fire. Just a pair of spastic swingers on a melting plastic floor… But you crumbled in my hands as I fumbled in your blouse, slipping through my fingers to my feet. It felt like mustard — hot like custard.

And in the dust that was once an arm, a kra-zee wrote the 13th Psalm. The final gesture…. He did it with calm precision, he dotted every eye. A lullaby for lovers on the last day.

Paying last respects with cups of poison… Pointed passive at the blood sky… Lying lifeless at their doors. Clawing craters in the shelters. Helter-skelter in the lift shafts, blasting brains out in the dark. LIE DOWN!! Lie down! “crime is crime is crime” [Thatcher’s voice]

A dog defaced a baby; knawed a rattle, smashed a pram. He was yelping wildly in a vacuum. No-one really gave a damn. They were thinking only of themselves… Yes, they searched for a release. They hid in cupboards, under tables; they cabled Jesus, called the police.

And the radio screams out, “We’re winning!” And about how the loss was minimal and how the gallant sacrifice will live on in memorials, and how we’ll respect again. We’re no playground anymore. You cannot keep this country down for long, because we win so many fucking wars.

[sample of crowd chanting “seig heil” and cheering] [sample of church bell and a music box?]

Legacy

The flat was empty. I wondered where you’d gone. But all the time the answer was in front of me. You took your clothes, left a little note, but all it offered was your sympathy. I should have seen those tell-tale signs. It seems so obvious now. The way I felt about you, it’s blinded me. Now all those fights we had seem so childish now. Just wish I could turn the clock back Any way… any how. All I’ve got is a a legacy of regrets. I’m forgetting how to smile. I watch a lot of TV these days, living on borrowed time. Too many tablets and too much wine. There’s nothing left to dream about. I’ve got no aspirations. I thought about a hobby but I’ve got no patience. Some fine legacy you left me. Some fine legacy. You always hurt the one you love. You always hurt the one you love. Some fine legacy.

City Ghosts

There was a time, a time for secrets. We’d walk together in the forest, hand in hand. We’d look uneasy, cold and pallid. Then we’d find some magic mushrooms and we’d skip across the clouds.

We danced for the old gods, danced for the new gods, danced for the ones we never heard about. Danced for the old days, danced for the new ways, Danced for the phase no-one talks about.

Tonight I feel nostalgic, feeling happy. And the powder in my pocket’s crying “Eat me! Eat me! Eat me!” Could be my age, I could be going crazy. ‘Cause I know you feel the same way, I can see it in your eyes.

I got my crown, I got my scepter. Letters on my buttons spell Napoleon. I’ll give you money, give you power, I’ll give you a palace in the Amazon.

Do you think that they’ll lock us away? Padded cells, packet-soup on alternate days? Maybe we should behave in a normal way. Face facts, face the real world.

A shadow rests, suggests no entry. A tramp complains, collapses weeping gently. A figure smiles and shines a blade discretely. And the drains ad-libbed a soundtrack as he picked his victim out.

He sang in the rain, he danced in the thunder, Bowed as we bellowed from the balcony. Stepped on a hand, set fire to a handbag, Slipped as the sparks skipped across his knees.

The song decayed in suits of amber. Coughing as they burned in glowing embers. A priest held up his hands, said “It’s over.” We nodded wisely, scooped the ash and cast it to the wind.

We played in the neon, bade out the paeons, slobbering in tongues to the subway gods. Just like the old days, rituals and red wine. Hair all tangled and covered in blood. Do you think that they’ll lock us away?

Hanging Gardens

Twisted East South North with the wind that rippled his hair. Ice stare constant, laughing – but the joy had gone. Snuffed out by the dawn, the rope had torn his flesh and broke his neck and left him dancing on the air in the Hanging Gardens.

Dancing with the dead — so peaceful there.

Branded as a thief. They stole his name, they stole his face. Gone without a trace… they killed his dignity and squeezed him dry. Cryies for mercy lost on judges with no ears, no hearts, looking smart in their black caps in the Hanging Gardens.

Love notes and carnations, fading, slowly dying… lying at his feet. Her sweet aroma lingered on the air. She stood and stared. She was numb now. She’d cried so much it had no meaning. So much salt and water flowing freely through the hanging gardens.

Blow gently, blow gently…

Dressed in virgin’s white, she masked her eyes with cold surprise. He cursed her name, the pain was creeping swiftly… twisted her inside. She retched and reached out for a hand. She landed on her face. Disgraced. No place for fainting queens in the hanging gardens…

A place for me, a place for you….

[the second part of this song is essentially the lyrics to the first part played backwards. as far as i can tell, there is no difference between the two… -$@]

Soma Bath

Powdered Heaven dressed in plastic pulled the shades down on his eye. Pinprick pupils soaring skywards Offer him no alibis. But then, who needs them? He’s quite perfect. Perfect body, perfect teeth that flash sublime and blind the kids who Spread their legs for their belief. Who cross themselves at the drop of a parable; Who scream they’re saved when they’ve touched his jeans Who swear his wisdom’s just infallible and beg for mercy — in his dreams… Another day. another sermon. Broken bread, forgotten lines. A line for comfort keeps him human. The needle trembles, band on tight. Another little perforation ventilates him and paints him white. A wordless song, a prayer to no-one but still he whistles through the night. They found him on his throne of porcelain. A rusty chain draped ’round his neck. Incapable. Incoherent. His eyes switched off but a king no less! The jury all wore black chewed razors. Witnesses were D.O.A. O.D’d, amoral, senses skewered. Dribbling lies and tooth decay. They declared his guilt. The defence said nothing… sobbing as the judge turned blue and washed his hands and said “Lord forgive us, for we know not what we do…” “Drown in your soma bath!” They said, “Drown in your soma bath! What are we gonna do with you? Let the punishment fit the crime! We have the technology. We got the instruments. Down! Down in your soma bath…”

Premonition 4

[sample: “ring around the rosie a pocket full of posies a tissue a tissue we all fall down ring around the rosie a pocket full of posies a tissue a tissue we all fall down…”]