The Prince of Darkness has left the stage for the last time.

Ozzy Osbourne, the chaos-slinging, bat-biting, metal-defining frontman of Black Sabbath, died Tuesday morning at age 76. His family confirmed the news, saying he passed peacefully, surrounded by love. For a man who lived every moment on the edge, it’s a quiet ending that feels surreal.

Just three weeks ago, Ozzy rolled onto a stage in Birmingham, England. His hometown. His battlefield. Seated on a throne and reunited with his Sabbath brothers for the first time in two decades, he gave fans one final, thunderous farewell. “You’ve no idea how I feel. Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” he told the 42,000 who showed up to witness the legend one last time.

Born John Michael Osbourne in 1948, Ozzy didn’t just help invent heavy metal. He made it impossible to ignore. But he was also more than that. He was a walking contradiction. Tender and chaotic. Wrecked and unbreakable. If country music is about three chords and the truth, Ozzy lived a life meant for a country song. Pain, redemption, rebellion, and a love story that somehow never cracked under the weight of fame.

He fought through Parkinson’s, surgeries, and tour cancellations. But he never stopped trying to get back on stage. “My voice is fine,” he kept saying. His legs failed him, but his spirit kept swinging.

And somehow, his reach crossed far beyond metal. Ozzy had friends in low places, too. Carrie Underwood brought his haunting ballad “Mama, I’m Coming Home” to life on The Howard Stern Show in 2023. Jelly Roll followed suit at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame the next year. That song hit different coming from two country voices steeped in their own hard roads.

Even Dolly Parton had something to say. She didn’t record one of his songs for her Rockstar album, but she sent him a message before his final performance. “Are we supposed to be saying farewell to you? Well, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” she smiled. “How about we just say good luck, God bless you, and we’ll see you somewhere down the road.”

That’s the thing with Ozzy. He was always just down the road. Whether it was with Black Sabbath, on MTV’s The Osbournes, or side-by-side with Post Malone or Kid Rock, he was everywhere you least expected him, and he never gave a damn about playing it safe.

He lived hard. Lost friends. Got kicked out of his own band. Came back stronger. Made solo albums that went platinum and dropped some of the wildest rock anthems ever written. “Crazy Train” wasn’t just a track. It was his autobiography with guitars cranked to 11.

Ozzy picked up Grammys. Landed in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Twice. But somehow, he still came off like a guy who couldn’t believe any of it. “It’s just been an amazing journey,” he said once. And that journey felt like it belonged to all of us, too.

He leaves behind his wife Sharon, their children, and a legacy too loud to ever fade out. Because whether it’s a stadium crowd or a dusty honky tonk, people will still be screaming his songs.

Rest easy, Ozzy. You were wild and loud and real to the core. You didn’t just make music. You made memories. And they won’t stop playing anytime soon.