History of Sorts

Eulogy for Ozzy Osbourne

Ladies and gentlemen,

Today, we gather not just to mourn a man, but to celebrate a force of nature — someone whose voice, spirit, and story shaped the very soul of rock and roll. John Michael “Ozzy” Osbourne, the Prince of Darkness, has left the stage — but the echoes of his life will reverberate forever.

Ozzy’s story was one of raw humanity — chaotic, loud, imperfect, and deeply, powerfully real. Born in Birmingham, England, into a working-class family, he clawed his way from the grey streets of Aston into the bloodstream of the world’s musical consciousness. When he first screamed into a microphone as the frontman of Black Sabbath, a new sound was born — heavy metal. It was dark, primal, honest. And so was Ozzy.

He didn’t just perform music — he exorcised something from the depths of his soul and offered it to us. With Paranoid, War Pigs, Crazy Train, and No More Tears, he gave a voice to disillusionment, rage, fear — and, strangely, love. For all the demonic imagery and chaos, there was always a tender humanity behind those wide, bewildered eyes.

Ozzy lived without a mask. His struggles with addiction, with mental health, with fame and identity — he never pretended to be anything but who he was. That unfiltered truth endeared him to generations of fans who saw in him not just a legend, but a survivor. A man who fell, stumbled, and got back up — over and over again.

And he was funny. Wildly, unexpectedly funny. Whether it was on stage, in interviews, or on The Osbournes, Ozzy let the world into his beautiful madness, and we loved him all the more for it.

But perhaps the most enduring part of Ozzy Osbourne wasn’t just the screaming, or the bat (yes, that bat), or the stadiums — it was his love. For his wife Sharon, his children, his bandmates, and his fans. He was, at heart, a man who just wanted to belong — and in doing so, gave millions of others a place to feel seen.

Ozzy taught us that darkness doesn’t mean despair — that there’s poetry in pain, music in madness, and even a kind of grace in being gloriously, defiantly imperfect. He left behind more than music. He left behind a mythology. A warning. A comfort. And a challenge to be honest with ourselves, no matter how strange or scary that truth may be.

So today, we don’t just say goodbye. We raise our horns. We turn up the volume. We remember the man who showed us how to scream into the void — and still find beauty in the noise.

Rest in peace, Ozzy.

You may have left the stage, but the show — your show — will never end.

Heaven is in the palm of my hand
And it’s waiting here for you
What am I supposed to do
With a childhood tragedy?

If I close my eyes forever
Will it all remain unchanged?
If I close my eyes forever
Will it all remain the same?

Rest in Peace Ozzy