Well, what if ?

What if...
The angel of death came calling on me
On one of his life taking sprèe
I would teach him the art of procrastination
And say my soul needed beautification
Heaven would have to wait
I would need to cleanse my heart
Before I would from this world depart
So that heaven could open its gate
Not treat me like a surrogate.
I would not like to die on a hospital bed
With tubes and needles stuck all over
Down my throat, through a pipe being fed 
Visitors putting on a sympathetic face
Turning with pity,and a look of grimace
It would be good to die surrounded by
Books, poetry, hope my poems last that long
And playing in my ear, a favourite song..