Answer:
I think you live beneath a roof that is upheld by me; I think you seldom walk abroad but my fair form you see; I close you in on every side you very dwelling pave and probably I'll go with you At last into the grave.
The more it dries, the wetter it becomes. What is it?
I give people a huge fright but at the end I'm sweet. I normally celebrate at night when there's less heat.
I'm simple for a few people, but hard for them to hear. I live inside of secrets and bring people's worst fears. What am I?
I turn around once. What is out will not get in. I turn around again. What is in will not get out.
Almost everyone needs it, asks for it, gives it. But almost nobody takes it.