“I cried so much watching it… the love he had for his fans was overwhelming.” Those were Sharon Osbourne’s words, just moments after she published the final video Ozzy shot while aware. In it, the Prince of Darkness addresses directly to his fans with clarity, thanks, and the calm anguish of knowing the end is approaching. This isn’t just a farewell. It’s the final present

“This Is My Goodbye”: Ozzy Osbourne’s Final Video Leaves Millions in Tears

“I cried so much watching it… the love he had for his fans was overwhelming.”
Those were the words of Sharon Osbourne, just moments after she shared with the world the final video Ozzy Osbourne recorded before his death — a video that has since become more than just a farewell. It has become a time capsule, a final act of devotion, and a gift from a man who had always given everything he had to those who loved him.

In the hauntingly intimate clip, recorded during one of his last lucid moments, Ozzy speaks not as a rock god, not as a larger-than-life icon, but as a man confronting the end with grace. There are no special effects, no heavy metal theatrics, no grand stage. Just a quiet room, soft light, and Ozzy — frail but unmistakably himself.

“I don’t know how much time I’ve got left,” he says in the video, his voice weathered but steady, “but I didn’t want to leave this world without saying something to the people who carried me through it.”

It’s not a performance. It’s a conversation — raw, emotional, and deeply personal.

For decades, Ozzy Osbourne had been synonymous with chaos and charisma. The Black Sabbath frontman turned solo superstar had lived through more than most: addictions, overdoses, near-death experiences, career resurrections, public scandals, and private heartbreaks. And through it all, his fans remained loyal. Some followed him from the dark Sabbath days; others joined during his solo rise. Many discovered him through reality TV, only to dig deeper into the music, the madness, and the magic.

Ozzy never forgot that. And in his final days, he made sure his gratitude wasn’t just spoken — it was documented.

The video was recorded on a quiet afternoon in his private studio, weeks before his death. Sharon, their children, and a few close friends were there. It was his idea. “I want to talk to them,” he said. “I want them to hear me while I still sound like me.”

It’s hard to watch without feeling the weight of time. His once wild hair is thinner. His eyes are heavy, but sharp. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for the camera, almost instinctively wanting to get closer to the people watching. And then, without a script, Ozzy begins.

“You gave me a life,” he says. “You gave a lost kid from Birmingham a reason to scream, to sing, to survive. I was nothing without this music — and without you, the music would’ve meant nothing.”

His pauses aren’t edited out. He doesn’t try to sound poetic. But that’s what makes it powerful.

He talks about the early days — playing tiny clubs, sleeping in vans, dreaming of a record deal. He talks about the madness of fame, the highs that came with the lows, and the fans who kept showing up even when he couldn’t show up for himself. There’s a moment when he mentions a letter a fan once gave him — a note from a teenager who said Ozzy’s music stopped them from ending their life. He chokes up as he recalls it.

“That stayed with me,” he says. “All this time, I thought I was the one being saved by the music. But maybe… maybe we were saving each other.”

At one point in the video, he laughs — a soft, broken chuckle that sounds like the ghost of the man who once bit the head off a bat and screamed through stadiums. “People always asked me how I survived this long,” he says. “Truth is, I didn’t do it alone. I had Sharon. I had my kids. But I also had you. Every damn one of you.”

And then comes the hardest part — the goodbye.

“I don’t want this to be sad,” he says quietly. “I want you to play the records loud. I want you to tell your kids and your grandkids what real rock and roll felt like. I want you to live loud. Love loud. Because if I did anything right, I hope it was reminding people that they don’t have to fit in to matter. You can be strange. You can be broken. You can still be loved.”

He closes the video with a smile. Not the grin of a rock god, but the weary, knowing smile of a man who has made peace with his past and his future. “Thank you for every scream, every cheer, every time you raised your fists in the air. I’ll carry that with me. Wherever I’m going.”

Then he whispers it, almost too softly to hear: “This is my goodbye.”

Sharon watched the recording privately before releasing it to the public. She later said it was the hardest thing she had ever done — pressing “play” on a memory she wasn’t ready to share. But she knew Ozzy had wanted the world to see it. “He wasn’t afraid to die,” she said in a quiet interview afterward. “He was afraid of leaving without saying thank you.”

The video, just under ten minutes long, spread like wildfire. It was shared by fans, celebrities, musicians, even politicians. Tributes poured in from across the globe — not just for the music, but for the humanity behind it.

Thousands posted stories about how Ozzy’s songs pulled them through dark nights, how his strange and fearless authenticity gave them permission to be themselves. Others spoke of meeting him backstage, where he was often kinder than anyone expected. Some wrote of playing “Mama, I’m Coming Home” at their parent’s funeral — or “Crazy Train” at their wedding.

What the world saw in that final video was something rare: a man who had seen it all, done it all, and yet remained deeply humble in the end. A man whose fame never diluted his gratitude.

And maybe that’s what makes the farewell so powerful. Ozzy wasn’t just saying goodbye. He was giving something — one last time. His words. His heart. His truth.

For those who grew up with him, who found pieces of themselves in his lyrics, who screamed his name in sold-out arenas or from bedroom speakers, that video is more than a tribute. It’s a reminder. Of music. Of connection. Of how even the loudest voices can whisper the most profound goodbyes.

Ozzy Osbourne may be gone, but his final message will echo for generations:
Be loud. Be strange. Be real. Be grateful. And never forget who you are.

Because he never forgot us.