The sound of, well, not music

As far as I can tell there is only one good thing about my husband being away. It does not in any way compensate for the fact that he isn't here, but it provides me with a little joy nonetheless. It isn't that I don't have to fight to sleep under the covers, nor is it the amount of chick flicks I can watch uncensored.
It is the fact that I can sing, because I really cannot sing. I would never inflict such pain and suffering onto anyone as to make them listen to my crooning. But when I am alone, I pull out the old song book and belt away.
Mostly, I destroy old standards such as Pennies from Heaven, Night and Day, pretty much anything from The Sound of Music. There is a repertoire of Swedish songs, psalms and folksongs.
And then there are the National Anthems. Sometimes, I am overwhelmed by this terrible urge to sing National Anthems, my favorites being the Swedish and Finnish ones. Please understand, I am probably the least nationalistic person you will ever meet, but there is something grand about anthems. Even hearing the American one for the umpteenth time at the Olympics has a certain je ne sais quoi. The only one I absolutely cannot sing is the Icelandic one. It is simply impossible to sing for anyone without extensive training.
And it is really depressing.
The last verse is about a small flower with quivering tears. Beautiful, sure, but not the stuff of grand designs.
Then again Icelandic law states that the National Anthem cannot be communicated in any other way except singing. For me to even attempt to do anything with it would probably be a criminal offence.