Willie Nelson, frail but steady, walked to the front of the chapel with Trigger in his hands and his hat pressed against his chest. The stained glass behind him glowed faintly in the overcast light. “This isn’t my song,” he murmured, voice low and breaking. “But it was his.” The room fell still.In the front pew, Sharon Osbourne clung to the side of Ozzy’s coffin, her sobs muffled by silk and grief. Every eye turned toward Willie — the outlaw poet, the last of his kind — as he began to play the opening chords of “Dreamer.”
Introduction Behind the heavy guitars and bat-biting mythology, there is a side of Ozzy Osbourne...