From the Journal of Maksis, The Wanderer, who never grows bored, of the Comedic

Troupe of the Blue Marches

On the matter of a human concert
As always in my own manner
No thought of what before me came
As I saw the first man stand with grim intent.
His instrument, a hollow gourd
With strings made thin and stretched most taught
To a long pole pegged and tightened with intent.
The tune he struck was most rhyth'mic
Like the rain of home melodic
And the small crowd spilled before him stared intent.
The other members of his troupe
Struck up the tune by his guidance
Drums and harps and bowed fiddles played most intent
But as I gazed at the people
I saw no eyes glist'ning with joy
And it took me some time to judge their intent
As the singer let forth her voice
Like a lion, like the thunder
Clear as a bell but filled with the crowd's intent
I watched as the band still played on
A mere child, not near twenty
Became clear as the object of their intent
She was brought up onto the stage
And as that awe-making tune played
I saw her head separated from her neck
And I watched as her blood was spill't
On the ground before the stern crowd
And each of them accused lies with frothing mouths
(It is debated that this specific missive dropped off its meter'd use of stanza'
s last word, a standard device of Aktornik poetry, to accentuate the shock that
The Wanderer felt upon seeing an accused liar be executed at a simple vernacular
concert, a common place ordeal at human celebrations, where justice must always
be swift, no matter what else occurs in the town square.)