at peace, at rest bit the dust, breathed the last dirt napping six feet under with the fishes croaked across the Jordan didn’t make it, done for, departed to meet its maker dropped dead like a fly food for worms on its last legs the hour came no plugs to pull, all daisies to push, shuffling off this mortal coil or riding the pale horse the ghost gave up went the way of all flesh off to a better place the long night not long for this world sunset, one last bow
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I was hoping “pushing the daisies” would make an appearance; among idioms, one of my favorites