Soon, maybe tonight you will get everything you deserve, mister. Soon, soon, Mr. Doyle, I will knock at your door, yes, tonight.
You'll get yours. I hold a holy gun by the grace of God.
Soon you will be buried alone with your Navy Jack, mister. Soon you will remember my name when I'm pointing at you, dixie man.
You'll get yours. I hold this holy gun by the grace of God. Dusk. There's a light in the house. I will slip in through that fence. Hush, pretty dog, go away, this won't last for too long.
So I knock with the gun in my hand. I can feel, now, your steps.