This is your puzzle.
My first is Vanessa, the crimson-barred rank
Of horn-blowing, trap-spotting, Sam Hood who sank.
My next is a walker, a silver cross cart,
An optimist’s hull with which shallows to chart.
My last in the place where the chorus once stood
Has scraping and hitting and metal and wood.
What three words can tell you is just where I dwell:
You’ll find your way in at the place where I fell.
Enter here with the password.