A Quiet Farewell: Metallica and Kelly Osbourne Unite for a Final, Unheard Song at Ozzy’s Private Burial
There was no roar of the crowd, no flash of cameras, no thunderous applause. There was only the gentle whisper of an English breeze through the trees and the heavy silence of grief. On a serene afternoon at the Osbourne family estate near Birmingham, far from the arenas he commanded, Ozzy Osbourne was laid to rest.
The final farewell for the Prince of Darkness was not a spectacle of rock and roll, but a testament to the man behind the myth. It was an intimate gathering where the guest list was measured not in fame, but in love. And at the heart of this solemn tribute stood his daughter, Kelly Osbourne, supported by four men who were not just fellow legends, but family: the members of Metallica.
Brothers in Music, United in Grief
James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Kirk Hammett, and Robert Trujillo came not as rock gods, but as friends. Dressed in simple, somber black, they stood as a quiet guard of honor beside Kelly, near a casket resting in the shade of trees that Ozzy and Sharon had planted together decades ago. They were a world away from the stages they once shared, their presence now a silent offering of support.
The attendees were few—close family and lifelong friends who settled onto modest white chairs. In the front row sat Sharon Osbourne, a pillar of strength and sorrow, her back straight, her eyes reflecting a lifetime of memories. She clutched a lace handkerchief, a silent witness to a love story’s final chapter. As a hush fell over the gathering, Metallica and a courageous Kelly Osbourne stepped forward.
A Song from the Silence: “The Candle That Won’t Burn Out”
They began to play. It wasn’t “Crazy Train” or “Enter Sandman.” It was a song almost no one had ever heard, a fragile, beautiful melody Ozzy had written in his final years but never released. Titled “The Candle That Won’t Burn Out,” its lyrics had been discovered on a piece of aged, handwritten paper in his study only weeks before.
As they performed, the song’s raw emotion filled the air. Only Kelly, who had sat by her father’s side while he hummed the tune with a fading voice, knew it by heart. James Hetfield’s powerful voice was softened with a gentle sorrow. Kelly’s own voice, so strong, broke with emotion on the first chorus. Kirk Hammett’s guitar seemed to weep in place of words, and even Lars Ulrich paused behind his cymbals, fighting back tears as they reached the song’s final, poignant verse:
“If I can’t be loud, let me be real / If I can’t be fire, let me be flame / And if I must fade, let me fade in your name.”
A Final, Human Goodbye
As the last note hung in the air, a profound silence descended once more. No one moved. Seated just a few feet away, Sharon Osbourne wept openly, her tears not for a public persona, but for the brilliant, complicated boy she fell in love with, the man who gave her a family, and the partner who shared a hundred lifetimes with her in one.
In that moment, as the sun broke through the overcast sky, it was clear this was the goodbye Ozzy truly wanted. Stripped of all the chaos and fame, it was painfully human, pure, and real. He didn’t want a circus; he wanted music. He didn’t want an audience; he wanted the people who knew him as a husband, a father, and a friend.
He wanted to be remembered, not just replayed. In the quiet of his own home, with a final, unheard song, they sang the Prince of Darkness home one last time.