This morning, July 29, at the foggy Highgate Cemetery in London, the moment of Ozzy Osbourne’s memorial became something no one could forget. Brian May — the legendary guitarist of Queen — suddenly appeared in silence, just a few minutes before Ozzy’s coffin was carried to its final resting place. He wore a long black coat, his silver hair fell over his shoulders, and held in his hands the old wooden guitar that had accompanied him through decades of stage memories. And when his fingers began to strum the first melody of “Mama, I’m Coming Home,” the air seemed to freeze. On both sides of the road, hundreds of people dressed in black lined up, holding branches of white flowers. Some cried silently. Some knelt, placing their hands on their hearts as the coffin passed by. Others reached out — as if to touch the rebellious spirit one last time. Beside the coffin was Ozzy’s daughter — a young girl with short, purple hair full of personality, her face pale with grief. She didn’t say a word, just placed a hand gently on the coffin lid the whole way. Her tears fell silently, but made everyone around her eyes red…

At Foggy Highgate Cemetery, Brian May’s Surprise Tribute Turns Ozzy Osbourne’s Farewell Into an Unforgettable Moment

This morning, **July 29**, at the mist-shrouded **Highgate Cemetery** in London, the farewell to **Ozzy Osbourne** turned into something hauntingly beautiful — a moment no one present will ever forget.

Just minutes before Ozzy’s coffin began its slow journey to its final resting place, **Brian May**, the legendary guitarist of **Queen**, appeared without announcement. Dressed in a long black coat, his silver curls falling softly over his shoulders, Brian carried with him not a grand electric guitar, but an old, worn wooden one — an instrument scarred by decades of music, memory, and life.

As he stepped forward, the world seemed to pause. His fingers found the first gentle chords of **“Mama, I’m Coming Home,”** and for a heartbeat, the air itself felt still. The melody drifted through the cemetery like a prayer, tender and raw, honoring the man known as the **Prince of Darkness**, who in the end was just a father, a friend, and a soul ready for rest.

On either side of the road, hundreds dressed in black stood silently, clutching branches of white flowers. Some wept quietly, heads bowed. Others knelt, pressing trembling hands to their hearts. A few reached out as the coffin passed, as if trying to hold on to the rebellious spirit they had followed for so many years.

Walking beside the coffin was Ozzy’s daughter — her short purple hair a flash of youthful defiance, her face pale with grief. She spoke no words. Instead, she placed her hand gently on the coffin lid, her silent tears falling, mirrored by those around her.

In that foggy morning light, music, memory, and love merged — and a rock legend was laid to rest, carried home on a final melody that spoke louder than any farewell.