I always wear black
  when I walk around,
           wanting to be ready?

For death when it slyly
    collects me footsteps,
          taking my last horizontally.

Needing to be prepared for that
         moment, when I fall,
I want to look good on my deathbed.

If death wants me to pass,
        it'll be dressed in what I'm
             slumbering beneath the dirt in.