Ten long years the man had spent,

in a place for minds with sickness bent.

No respite ever came his way.

Misery, his companion, day after day.

Was it better then, that he should die,

this man diagnosed as a G.P.I. ?

There was a bell that rang the hour,

in that place, in an old stone tower.

Its tones, a sombre message gave:

"There's peace my brother, down in the grave.

Let your spirit from captivity fly,

for there's no cure for a G.P.I.".

His ears, every day the message received,

but by a mind deceased, he was deceived.

Then one day, all the pain went away.

A drug was discovered, the balance to pay

now he waits, not knowing why,

but all is tranquil beneath the sky.

The bell tolls on, people come and go.

The reason, one day maybe we"ll know.