The Ghost on Loud Street Is an Introvert.

Remember the tale of the haunted house

The one Grandmother told you

Of the house standing tall in the corner

With its lawn always mowed in the night

Sounds of knives and screams on Thursday's

Sad music filling the streets from her insides

Strange smokes dancing out the chimney

Here's the side your Grandmother didn't tell

Maybe because she didn't know 

Or

She didn't want you to know

A human that works 9 - 5 stays in the house

Thursdays were the free days, so the lawn must be mowed

Onions diced, Dough kneaded while dancing

All around the house, far across the room 

To some tear stopping music about the reaper

The human has a limited social battery

This restricts interaction

There is no ghost on the street

No hunter in the house

Just some story

Or

Some truth.