Your hand on his arm, the hay stack charm around your neck, strung out and thin, calling some friend trying to cash some check, he's acting dumb, that's what you've come to expect. * I can't beat myselfI can't beat myselfAnd I don't want to talk.I'm taking the cure so I can be quietWhenever I want.So leave me aloneYou ought to be proud that I'm getting good marks.