Knock only once upon her door my child.
She takes not so kindly to a copy of one.

Unless if a twin you travel with,
in both body and hand.

Only then will she be so inclined to accept.

And when she does,
you must enter her humble abode.
Through a door of wooden gold.

Find what once was fog,
now a neon symphony.

Watch as she molds new creation.

Destined to meet old damnation.

So is the way of life,
in a cycle yet unbroken.