There were no announcements. No formal introduction. Just minutes before Ozzy’s casket was to reach its final resting place, Brian May appeared in silence, clad in a long black coat, his silver hair falling gently to his shoulders. In his hands: a worn acoustic guitar, weathered with time and history.

Then, without a word, he began to walk — slowly, beside the casket — gently strumming the opening notes of “Mama, I’m Coming Home.” And in that moment, the world stood still.

Lining the path on both sides, mourners dressed in black held white flowers close to their chests. Some wept quietly. Others knelt, hands pressed to their hearts. A few reached out as the casket passed, as if hoping to touch, just once more, the spirit of the man who gave them voice through darkness.

Walking beside the casket was Ozzy’s daughter, a young woman with striking purple hair in a short cut — her expression pale, grief-stricken. She spoke no words. Her hand rested gently on the lid of her father’s coffin, every step a silent tribute. Her tears fell without sound, but they echoed in the eyes of everyone who witnessed them.

One attendee whispered afterward:

“When Brian reached the chorus, I couldn’t hold it together. It felt like Ozzy was still with us, somewhere in that fog.”

Under the gray London sky, there was no microphone, no spotlight, no fanfare — and yet it may have been the most powerful performance of Brian May’s life.

Ozzy Osbourne, the man who once screamed “I am Iron Man” across stages worldwide, was sent home with the very melody he once wrote about returning to family. And the man who played it for him — could not have been more fitting.