They came for our grain before they came for my life.They rode in at dawn. Dust on their cloaks. Steel on their hips. They looked at our fields and herds and saw easy meat. We had no armor. No walls. No iron gates. Only hands that knew work and eyes that knew hunger when they saw it in other men.By their measure we were naked. I knew better. I had

There’s something about Roy Dawson that shakes the dust out of the corners of this tired music industry. It’s not just the gravel in his voice or the fire in his guitar, it’s the way he keeps standing up after every hit and saying, “I’m not done. Not yet.”​​The man they can’t moldRoy Dawson’s story is too raw, too messy, and too