John K. Samson - Letter in Icelandic from the Ninette San lyrics

You'll recall from the sagas, I hope, Grettir's last stand at Drangey How his grip on his sword made his enemies cut off his hand If he'd fled here instead and had tasted this terrible coffee Or read these letters you sent, he'd surrender and lay the blade down And it's Halloween Skinny ghosts dressed like cowboys and rest by the railing by my door On their way from the children's ward Bev Monroe and his Pembina Valley Boys play at the party And I practice my English on nurses: "Oh, that's a nice name" And they may ask for mine, but the burns on my back from the x-rays Say I shouldn't show anyone anything ever again In another year I'll be buried or shivering here, coughing at that gray spittoon Painted orange by the harvest moon Pack up mother's clothes Drive her down to the New Betel Home Sell the boat to Arnason, and then go Stand up straight In the place you're longing for And don't write to me anymore