Roy Dawson isn’t just another singer-songwriter—he’s cut from the cloth of rock legends. The kind of cloth that smells like bar smoke, sweat, and American grit. The kind of cloth soaked in heartache, highway miles, and hand-written lyrics on paper napkins—torn and stuffed in back pockets after a long set at a dive bar somewhere between nowh

It came sudden, like gunfire after too long a silence. Lights flipped on. Roaches ran. The kind of moment you don’t see coming but feel in your bones three days before it hits. When the air grows heavy and the coffee tastes wrong. That’s how you know.They thought no one would notice. Thought they could keep stealing, lying, twisting. Thought th