Three Word Wednesday- Drink, Feeble, Predict

The lights in the bar flickered over my head, flashing and whirring like fire flies who've lost thier spark. It wasn't much of a bar, a couple feeble looking stools here, an empty beer bottle smashed on the floor over there. The place stank of depression, even the drunks hanging thier heads low over the tables were less boisterious then usual, prefering to hug thier pints close to thier chests tonight rather then swing heavy blows at eachothers' noses.
The barmaid approached me, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and lipstick smeared across her thin pouty lips. She looked like she'd been here since six a.m this morning serving the same bumbs along the counter. I could see something dieing in her eyes even as she picked up my glass to refill it.
I knew her story back to front. It wasn't hard to predict her type, sad as thier story was. She must have been about seventeen, her parents divorced, or a runaway father, leaving her and atleast one sibling to nurse thier raging alcholic mother by themselves. She'd never had a proper education, not with having to come home halfway through each day to rescue her mother from the clutches of the drug dealers. Her brother or sister was still young, maybe ten or eleven, looking on her to keep them safe, to guide them. So young, and still she had the resposibilities her mother had dumped on her.
She spent day after day in the bar, serving horrible old men who geered at her, and returned every night to her mother's pills, whiskey and cursing. Every night she would hear that she was nothing, a slut and a bitch, worth less then the sad dog they barely kept alive on the scraps of food they could offer it.
She looked up from pouring the drink, her eyes meeting mine. I must not have looked like much either, lanky brown hair and grey eyes. But in that moment, I felt I had to protect her. In her eyes, I saw her plea with me, whisper something lower then words. She was asking for me to save her. Me, like I was any better off then her. Like I could be a hero.
I lowered my eyes. Shuffling to my feet, slamming down a fiver on the counter. I made towards the door, forgetting my drink that she was pouring out for me.
I turned one last time as i reached the peeling red painted exit. She was still watching me, but the lightbulb in the socket above her had gone out.

Carry on Tuesday- The Road

Does this road wind uphill all the way,
To the gates at the end of the line?
Does this path have a tunnel for me to follow,
To the clouds where tonight I will dine?
Does this track lead to the final bright light,
Will it take me to Himself , I implore?
Does this road wind uphill all the way,
And if so, is there a backdoor?

Lies

The words that we speak dont have to be true,
Each rhyme that we sing doesn't have to be new,
It doesn't take knowledge to make us rejoice,
It's the lies that we tell in a sure enough voice.

To say that it's fine, we'll all be okay,
Those are the things that give hope its ray,
To pretend for a while that things can be turned,
Its not lies that they've taught us, but lies that we've learned.

Is it so bad for once in a while,
Turn your back to the darkness and put on a smile,
Do we have to know everything that we see,
Or can I live my life just knowing I'm me.