Buckle yourself in
and hold on tight,
busy beavers are pulling levers
as we climb to even greater heights.
Reaching the top,
with in tail retinue,
we stop before the drop,
and admire the view.
But too soon we descend,
and we're screaming round the bends,
clutching the bar
as we're tossed to and fro,
chasing the highs
and fearing the lows,
eventually stopping
we step from the car,
to the cheers,
leers and jeers,
from erstwhile collared peers,
who look upon,
with vacant hope,
the election of a hetero pope.
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