I lay in bed 4

(for some reason I wrote this in a Beatles accent. it could be a good Beatles tune)
I lay in bed
My bed is the head
That gets me to where I'm thinking of
That leads me toward paths of green
That guides me up the river of streams

I lay in bed
My self is the shelf
On which my moonshine sits
On whom I place my vials of nine
On her I let my body slip

Away

O god the hour is late
My cats, I don't have to worry
Where is that written piece you owe?
Mind you don't lose your job

I lay in bed
My eyes start getting heavy
It's textbook what happens next
The fingers no longer fing and my conquistadors no longer sting