In hushed halls where Hippocrates once reigned,
Unscrupulous surgeons play a wicked game.
Promising cure to those in ceaseless pain,
Yet their actions bring nought but cruel shame.
With scalpel's gleam and soothing words they lure,
Each patient desperate, seeking a sure cure.
Yet beneath their hands, health takes no leap,
Victims crippled, in agony they weep.
The clink of gold, the profit from despair,
A theatre of horror, cloaked in sterile air.
Operations botched, lives forever marred,
A charade, where trust is brutally scarred.
A leg, once strong, now bound for amputation,
An ironic twist to their sworn obligation.
Innocents marred by this malicious greed,
While the guilty shroud their deeds in needless secrecy.
Shadowy giants of medical device,
Entangled in this scandalous vice.
Their truth concealed, their connection discreet,
In this tangled web of deceit, they beat their retreat.
Yet the cries of the victims echo, loud and clear,
A haunting chorus for those who'd hear.
Against the greed, the deceit, the lies,
A call for justice eternally cries.
Oh, beware the surgeon's mask that hides a grin,
The twisted game where no patient can win.
In the quest for truth, may light expose the night,
And bring an end to this ghastly plight.
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