Vocals/Keyboards/Treatments: Edward Ka-Spel
Keyboards: Phil Harmonix (Phil Knight)
Keyboards/Voice: April Iliffe
Guitar: Stret Majest (Barry Gray)
Drums: Keith Thompson Bass: Roland Calloway
Flute: Sally Graves
Violin: Patrick Q Paganini
CD edition is a slightly abridged reissue of the double cassette.
The tracks from "Film of the Book" to "The Bride Wore Green" are collectively called 'Blueprint For The Tower.
The tracks from "Grind" to "The Glory, The Glory" are collectively called 'The Apocalypse Disco'.
The original cassette edition is "officially" limited 83 numbered copies, but somewhere between 110 and 120 copies were actually produced, all with different handmade covers.
A cassette edition on Barooni edition was planned but never realized.
Jarmusic edition limited to 50 numbered copies.
Some cassette editions have "Surprise, Surprise" listed as "Tower 4/Surprise..."
"Malhazka" is the intro to "Curse - the Sequel", and appears as a part of that track on 'The Legendary Pink Box' and the 2xCD edition without being listed.
The Light In My Little Girl's Eyes
The street looked kind of different - harsher colours, sharper angles. Shops stacked high with stereos and rows of magazines. Smells of coffee, glossy limousines. The sun danced on the chromium. Slant eyes drowning in the light. Lights turned red as elbows jabbed, voices snarled and luck turned sour, Children screamed! Brakes were screeching! Knees were pumping, ribs were crunching. Crushing, drowning deeper. The street looked kind of different. The paving stones were playing cards, and cried out as I skipped from the red to the black. Cracked a joke about the joker, saluted all the kings, threw a ring to the blackest queen who ushered me away to the palace in the square where the air's so cold and it gets so lonely, so lonely in the night. She whispered sleazy secrets on the couch by the TV. 3D visions of a soapflake, trumpets blared, a voice declared: "Are you feeling dirty?" Yes, but also very pleased. Heard applause, felt the claws in my back, rocking backwards, rocking forwards in the groove. The earth moved! The couch moved! We rolled on the felt, knocked the vases off the shelf... Watched ourselves in the mirror, like animals, like cannibals! And you ate my ear so I nibbled at your shoulder... Rolled your tongue up in my hands - I swallowed it whole. Flesh decreasing by the second until all that remained were the eyes, mine brown, yours black. Tilted back, we stared at the Hollywood sunset. (Hollywood...) Brighter Now... it looks so pretty tonight. The light in my little girl's eyes...Brighter Now.
(??? three-liter ???) that's drawn out to an epic. Fortified with pills, bellies drowning in seeds. Life at the top has reached the bottom. Synthetic manliness bought and sold. A sign, a strain: man, you're old. Okay, from the top, let's go. Let's go. You have a gut and your neck has gone. Dig your own grave, we don't want cripples here. What's that you say, no cash? Here, I'll buy your soul, always willing to help a friend. Drink it quick, drink it quicker, tempting fate. Life is short, if we try we can make it shorter. Yeah, it's tough at the top. At the top, let's go.
Neon Gladiators (version one)
Soft pile carpets wall to wall. They're splashing in the pool. They fornicate in corners and they're moaning in the haze. It isn't love, it's just the smoke. The jokes are bad, the laughs are cruel And Jenny swung a knife. The statues came to life, the stone swords crunching into heads. The carpet turning red. The neon gladiators are sparring sparring on the lawn and trampling on the roses - they make the hostess bawl. The walls are cracking. Detectives leapt from TV screens, they are screaming "freeze!", their fingers itching. Ducking as a chandelier comes crashing down. While somewhere in another town, a finger pressed a knob, changed the channel, wiped a flannel across his face and danced. Dance divine, dance in sequins. Here come the neon gladiators!
I had a picture of you. I sliced it up in two and half my love went in the bin, with the letters. And the purple tie you bought me for my birthday. Tell me! What's his favorite colour? is it yellow? does he like it when you smoke in bed or burn the eggs or spend his money on those silly things which last for just a week then take their place among the garbage or with some stupid charity. His charity. My charity's all gone, like those records that you stole when you rolled up our relationship and slipped out unannounced. Christ! you even took the cat. Now I talk to pictures, go to bed at 10 and pretend that I'm asleep, but the bags around my eyes betray me. You betrayed me... I betrayed myself. I'll live with it, and I'll find someone else. Don't you worry... don't you hurry to the phone. I'm happy on my own, playing patience on the floorboard (hell... I always lose but I don't care).
Swamp juice drifted up the stairs, as Leo washed his hair in soap, and turned into a lion. Well, it's what the mirror told him. Likes his burgers raw, and make-up red. He shakes his head, the hair just tumbles down. He's in the jungle now and hungry, looking for an arm to chew on. Tarzan shouting from a poster on the wall. Here's the rope, take the world on. So he tiptoed to the balcony, and he swung across the street, as buses dodged and shoppers watched. And though he plowed into a window, Leo's shouting from a rooftop, "I'm King, King of all the Jungle!" But they bundled him away. Away ... Now he spends his days talking to the wall of his cell. It's padded, smells of ether, nurse is smiling sweeter than a can of jungle juice. Pats him on his mane, and he purrs, how he purrs... Meow! Meow! Meow! (How he purrs, meow!) One, two, three, four, five, six, seven: all good kittens go to heaven. (Meow!)
The Waiting Game
A drink of number eight, and I started seeing double, feel the stubble on my chin. A wobble in my knees, and a rumble in my brain, as I stumble into chairs, into tables. Lord, I'm sick of the waiting game. I'm sick of the waiting game. The cable is tight in my hand, and I pull, and the phone's dead, I'll bury it. Oh Lord, receive this receiver, receive this deceiver. She said that she'd call. Impatiently I waited for nothing - nothing at all. Still playing the waiting game. Oh Lord, do you think that she's ill? Oh Lord, do you think she just don't care? She just don't care. I'm sick of the waiting game.
Curse (The Sequel)
Curse your daughters. Curse your sons. Blood on the altar - see it run. Slaughter with a glance, a wish. The glass is moving, it spells out Y-O-U OWE ME. Know me! You know what I can do when I'm screaming from inside. Go hide! go hide, go hide away and cringe. I've got your picture, I've got the pins. Got a picture of him! A picture of him. Effigies of my baby! Ha ha ha ha! [sample of Betty Boop song, "oh I do dream of you, the whole night through, boop boop be doop"]
She said: "No complications...been hurt too many times before. Each time gets a little harder - hurt you if you stay for more." She said: "It was different last night. You were a tiger on the prowl. Scary, but attractive to me. You don't attract me now." She said: "We're worlds apart, no common ground outside the bed. What would we say, when we're both sober. You'd fly miles above my head." She said: "You're so naive. I'd cheat you when your back was turned. The way the world goes around, you really got a lot to learn." She said: "Don't bother phoning; I'd slam the receiver down. I just want to be alone sometimes. Don't hang around." Somewhere, someone's laughing. Somewhere, someone's laughing at me.
Film of the Book (Instrumental)
Tower 1 (version one)
Faces at a window, fingers clutching at the bars. A fly skips from an eyebrow to an elbow, across a scar. And stars are laughing as the wind bites - doesn't leave a mark, because the Tower stands impregnable, a beacon in the dark. And if you listen carefully, you'll hear a baby cry. Torn screaming from her mother's womb - the lady nearly died. But the torment never stops, it's written right across the eyes of George, of Jeannie, Charlotte, Renie, Uncle Geoff, Cousin Julie. Sky dye on her fingers. The air was turning blue, as captain whispered, "Blindfold's optional - you wouldn't like the view!" She shook her head and shouted back, "I'd like to see this through." Then joined the line of hostages - was 13th in the queue. And no-one names a crime committed, no-one blames a soul. Their cases heard so long ago - forgot about parole. And faculties are failing because they're really very old. And sick. And tired, much too jaded. How they weep, cos how they hate it. No-one has the key to the Tower. No-one has the key to the Tower.
Lullaby for Charles' Brother
Hated the world, despised its people, always prepared to put him down. Key politicians tried to con him, anxious to keep him flat on the ground. No giving in, they couldn't take him, he battled back with fists held high. But he was mowed down in the stampede, piggies come rushing from their sty. (Sty.) So he linked up with demonstrations, jumped on, arrested in Whitehall. Drew out a carving knife for his course: piggies in blood across the wall. Mummy was shocked but he's immortal, four page pull-out in the Sunset. This is the love that hated systems; just couldn't see the system's won. (Won.)
Monkey see, monkey do. Monkey's got no point of view. Captain points and she points too. Clever monkey! Monkey's got to know her place. No future in the 'master race'. Monkey spat in Captain's face - they cut her tongue out. Threw it to a doberman named Rover. He can eat a man in 20 seconds flat - prefers a cat. In the courtyard shuffled deviants with gold stars, they're scarred with numbers, as guards raise their cards. It's 6.2, 6.7. Book a place in heaven with a nine. Under five and in the corner for a session in the sauna. Naked, being born again - they're sliding down the chutes. And the garden's looking fine. There's lots of water, lots of lime and Captain spends most of his time in the deckchair. And there's weeping in the queue, and Lady Gwyneth's weeping too - sickened, yet she voted blue. She knows it. And night patrols are doing rounds. There's Tower complex, Tower Towns. Population's going down, but we're great again...
Glad He Ate Her
See the slaughter, hear the laughter. They were gathered on the lawn. Flags are flying, soldiers crying in their dapper uniforms. Glad he ate her. Raised to save her. All the thumbs were pointing down. Blade descending; party's ending. They threw off their dressing gowns, and screwed for the Empire. Screwed for the Queen.
Barbed Obituary (Instrumental)
The echo of a thousand marching boots hammers on the air. They're singing anthems, chanting oaths and whistle as Salome lifts her skirt because they're 'real' men and they're healthy, happy... own the place. They raise hell when they're sober, wrestle tigers when they're drunk. In the living room a picture of the queen nestles in between Miss August and a placard saying HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. (Keep it pure, keep it white. Keep it free of undesirables because freedom is so valuable and getting scarcer.). Fight! So they march. Smashing windows, splashing slogans, pushing petrol bombs through doors til a uniform appears. Gently whispers in the ear of the leader. "That's against the law - but we'll ignore it this time. Peace Krime's got to be official!" Keep it clean. Keep it quiet. In a lonely moor the digger's working, bigger holes hold more. And the villagers stay silent, no-one questions, no-one dares. And the patriots stay in as convoys rattle down the street. No-one hears the weeping, no-one listens for the cracks at dawn. The shovelling goes on and on and on. But the patriots aren't frightened cos they heard it on T.V. that a Golden Age lies 'round the corner. Any Day Now...
Espresso Curfew (Instrumental, with one unintelligible line)
Red with pretty ribbons, with a multi-coloured stamp. Postmark blurred, but sealed with a big red kiss. She didn't hear the tick-a-tick-a-tick. She wasn't listening. Busy shaking cocktails, laying out the table - all the big names coming for the party. Marks the start of the Golden Age: resistance finished, bouquets line the hall. Telephone forever ringing, singing in the streets: hooray, hooray! The guests rolled up in limousines, flags flying on the bonnets. Medals gleaming 'round the table. Captain took his cap off, with the golden braid ... it rolled away. The maid was told to wheel in all the flowers and the gifts. Glasses lifted, cards were sifted. Captain made a silent wish as he blew out all the candles on the cake. (It was a master bake.) The sweetest parcel rested on the table. Captain cut the purple ribbon, leader chose the yellow, and she peeled the paper back ... and something snapped - a sour smell, it blew them all to he(ll)!
The Bride Wore Green (Instrumental)
When the Clock Strikes 13
We'll make a secret rendezvous with a view, like a bridge at nighttime. We'll stare across the water, we'll share a cigarette. Stroll down the embankment, never say a word, like a film, like a story you heard. Lovers holding hands in silence. No one understands - a secret in a hostile world. Defiant stand, they're making plans, a studio in Paris. I could write a novel, get turned down. You'll sympathize: you'll write a poem, all for me, all for me. And each time we make love always seems like the first time. No novelty romance, cos what we have is meant to last, it's in the script, and though it's looking like a storm is brewing and the news is getting bleaker all the time - we've got each other. And all is going to be fine. When the clock chimes thirteen times, that's our time. That's our time.
Just Passing Over, Lovey ...
He's here with you now - in this room. See the haze. And my, how he's changed, yet he's really the same. Deep inside. Say, remember that tie you bought, a month before he died: how he'd hide it away in a drawer. You're convinced: yes it's him, and he's fine. It's another way of life. No, no-one really dies, they just pass over. Hover over us constantly. Just passing over. Is anybody there? Is anybody there?
Premonition 10 (stages i/ii/iii) (Instrumental)
A trace of ash, grey stain on the carpet. I didn't know you smoked - what brand? It wrecks your health, it burns your wealth, it's written on the packet. How doctors never smoked, and how it costs much more than money. Sunny days in hospital, they're having fun outside, while you're coughing in your iron lung - no fun, no laughs, no ha-ha-ha. And low-tar diet, acupuncture cure. Monkey suffers just for you in cold laboratories. Sorry looks, tied by wires, dreaming of a (nut?) that's in the jungle. Jungle (punk?). Choke!
The Plasma Twins
Give me plasma, make it soon, your love is not enough. I've got you in my heart, but I want you in my veins. And I'll meet you at the blood bank, they could pump you into me - it's only fair cos you know I like pumping into you. Give me plasma, be my plasma doll, my plasma lady fair. It's nice to know we're always sharing, a love like ours is rare. Yeah, I'll show you my muscles, if you give me your corpuscles. I'll have your blood, and you'll have my seed. We'll grow together, the plasma twins. The plasma twins. You won't feel a thing - the plasma twins. The plasma twins - that's us.
Our hero shimmers in the corner, nags, "A saccarini in my tea, my teeny queen" in a green bikini. Ate all night, and it shows as she gropes for a pill, and she groans that she's ill, and she grumbles to Bill, "Get your bloody tea yourself!" Cos my health's not as good as it seems. And the TV screen screams, scene's getting worse. But our leader's calm, she reads out a verse from the Bible. She pleads how the cause that we die for is blessed by the angels with rifles and skies full of bombs. It's an eye for an eye and the trifles are high aiming right for the eyes of the enemies of freedom. A comfort. Triumphant! What more do we need as we bleed from the bowels, til the towel stinks, the smells sticks. The stale sick is caked on the lino we lie on, we'll die on. Well, if I have to go that way, I'd rather melt with you. Just we two, I'll melt with you. Coming soon. I'll melt with you. (Only you can make my dreams come true.) I'd rather melt with you.
Apocalypse Gone (Instrumental)
Tried to run, but still you caught me. Tried to hide, but still you found me. Tried to smile, you wiped it from my face. A trace of madness in your eyes. I lied, I know I'm wrong. The game's been going on too long. The soap was in the kitchen all the time. And I hid it, cos I like you with your make-up on. I like you with your make-up on. Come on babe, we'll paint the town together. (Cha-cha?) Together. Yes, I like you with your make-up on. Come on babe, paint your face cos we're going out tonight.
It's Raining ... Again (Instrumental)
The Glory, the Glory
Marble halls and city walls. He lined them all with figures tall who called to passers-by and cast their eyes with scorn on forms imperfect - spread across the lawns, and born to wonder why they coughed and cursed and died, cos statues - they never die. They keep their beauty, hardly worn, though storms have tried to break them. And bombs dropped at their feet. Still standing, naked, but they're warm. Waiting for their turn to rule a world where nothing speaks, and nothing's small - nothing's ever worshipped. Where they're gods themselves. A 'perfect' world. A world of silence, a world of stone. On their own, alone.
Transcribed by Nancy Thuleen