Bloodlines of Bourbon Row

Red doors candlelit,
Windows cards turn slow by weathered hands.
She smiles, says, "Baby,
I know you," draws your future in the glass and sand.
You blink, and the room grows colder,
Her eyes go older than the war.
She toasts to the ones still thirsty,
For the ones that walk no more.
There's blood on Bourbon Street,