I think I’d like to be a stylite sitting high above the town
All the people looking up at me while I refuse to look down
Yes I think that’s how I’d like to win my ascetic crown
To be put on a pedestal high up above them all
And shout down to the scoffers “Pride cometh before a fall!”

I think I’d like to be a hermit alone in the wilderness
In a cave – maybe with bear – far from the worldly mess
Where crowds come to hear my advice and hope I will bless
And from my privacy I will give them all instruction
Such as “A haughty spirit comes before destruction!”

I think I’d like to be a mendicant and leave everything behind
I would be an opportunity for the rich to practice being kind
They would give me a lot of money and I would try not to mind
And while they were almsing me I would preach good and loud:
“Better be humble with the poor than with the wealthy and proud!”

I think I’d like to be a simple monk living in a simple cell
Spending all my time in prayer and being saved from Hell
I would be known for piety, wisdom, and humility as well
And when they asked me to be abbot I’d sigh and acquiesce:
“Man makes the plans, but the answer’s from the Lord, I guess.”

I like to think that I’d like to be an exile from the world to God
I like to think that I’d be humble, pious, separate and odd
I like to think that I’d always remember that I am flawed
I like to think I’d give up gold and buy wisdom instead
But I know myself too well, so I weep and bow my head