Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us. – Hebrews 12:1

It was 1975 and homosexuality was barely a movement, still in the shadows, even in the “progressive” rock-music biz. Two years hence, Freddie Mercury would sing the prideful lyrics to “We Will Rock You” and “We Are The Champions,” arguably his band’s most-overtly pro-homosexual songs. But it would be decades before fans clued on to Freddie’s proclivities. In a moment of spiritual clarity, he penned his band’s biggest hit, his autobiographical “Bohemian Rhapsody,” a single with the highest-ever production cost at the time with all of its overdubbed, operatic harmonies. Mercury never explained what Queen’s songs were about, but there’s compelling evidence that between 1975 and 1977 he underwent a transformation based on the
poor choices he made.

“Bohemian Rhapsody” is the conflicted prequel to later pro-homosexual songs by Queen, providing insight into Mercury’s internal torment. Tortured by his vices, struggling with sin, knowing it’s sin… and then, tragically, finally, and terminally, giving in, his lyrics take us from his first homosexual encounter, all the way, prophetically, to his untimely death.

We begin in the second part of the song where Mercury describes himself in the third person as an impressionable youth. You’d think he was talking about someone else: “I see a little silhouetto of a man.” But no, that’s just part of the deception. The whole chronology is inverted, you see, to throw his heterosexual fans off as he looks back to when he was young and innocent, as reflected in the insouciant nature of the accompaniment.

As a silhouette he’s just a cute young lad, basic and featureless, lacking character, playing the role of a boastful but cowardly, sixteenth-century commedia dell’arte clown, a “Scaramouche,” as part of some sort of theater group, the perfect quarry for an older homosexual assailant.

Indeed, a man’s voice calls to him, “Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?” a sexually enticing dance in triple time. And, quicker than you can say “statutory rape,” Mercury finds himself subjected to a “Thunderbolt and lightning.” For a mere child inexperienced in the abject violence of sodomy, it is, he confesses, “Very, very frightening [to] me!”

Mercury and his band chant back-and-forth, “(Galileo) Galileo. (Galileo) Galileo, Galileo Figaro Magnifico-o-o-o-o.” And just who, pray tell, is this Galileo character? I’m glad you ask. It is none other than Jesus Christ, that’s who. Having just been sodomized, Mercury is crying out to be rescued from his guilt and spiritual torment, to say nothing of the physical pain common to ALL young boys when they are first violated by older men.

Wait just a minute here, I hear someone object… Jesus is Galileo? Yes. You see, Mercury couldn’t mention Jesus by name in a pop song without totally destroying his cred, so he refers to Him obliquely, via Luke 23:5–7, the point in Christ’s Passion where Pilate realized Jesus was a Galilean, and therefore (he presumed) not his problem, passing Him to Herod Antipas who had jurisdiction over the region of Galilee. So yes, Freddie Mercury, who would become rock ‘n roll’s most flamboyant, “out” homosexual, cried out to Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior… yes, his Lord and Savior, at least at that juncture. And he did it for all the world to hear. Sadly, no one listened. We all heard the lyrics, sure, but were all too mesmerized by the music to listen to the message.

Lest you doubt Mercury’s victimhood status, go to the next verse where he laments, “I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me.” Precisely the type of low self-esteem that monstrous homosexual men prey upon. The band confirms this when they respond: “He’s just a poor boy from a poor family, Spare him his life from this monstrosity.” And with that line, it really couldn’t be more clear: even Mercury knows homosexual men are monstrous, or he wouldn’t have chosen that word.

Of crucial importance here, while the lyrics for “We Will Rock You” and “We Are The Champions” would be written by someone else just two years later, “Bohemian Rhapsody” comes to us exclusively from Freddie’s heart and soul, every last word of it. So yes, he thought homosexuals were monstrous. His words, not mine, dear reader.

Deflowered, Mercury is torn. “Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?” Of crucial importance here, it’s not his assailant to whom he’s appealing. It’s someone far more sinister, as you’ll soon see.

He cries out to God Himself to deliver him, shouting “Bismillah!” Arabic for In the name of God, harkening to his family’s roots in pre-Christian Zoroastrianism, a religion that opposes homosexuality, believing it a form of demon worship, an unforgivable offence necessitating immediate honor killing.

But, alas, the four-part harmonious response is, “No, we will not let you go.” It goes back and forth with Mercury’s band members joining him in shouting for this evil entity to “Let him go!” and Mercury, for his part, continuing to cry out to God, pleading to be “let go” from the evil that has him in its grip, until… finally… he turns his back on his family, his religion, and his past…and Freddie Mercury switches sides.

This is the turning point for many young men, especially now in an inverted culture that celebrates such inherently violent sexual activity, applauding these victims, urging that they stop being victims and join the dark side instead. They become, in every sense of the words, born again. Mercury now sings “Never, never, never, never let me go!” no longer yearning to be “let go.” It’s unmistakable; he has given in. His basest desires will henceforth be his “rhapsody,” his life’s passion in other words, right here in the physical world.

Like Macbeth, throwing away his afterlife in exchange for immediate gratification “here upon this bank and shoal of time,” as Shakespeare put it, Mercury has made the irrevocable decision to “jump,” to skip in other words “the life to come.” (Shakespeare, Macbeth, I, vii, 6–7) It’s as if he’s skipping a luncheon engagement. No big deal. He’s got more important things to attend to. Like having sex with boys.

And what, you ask, is this evil he had been pleading against until this point? He cries out in shock and surprise, realizing the normal world of love is now but a fast-fading memory: “Oh, mama mia, mama mia, Mama mia, let me go!” Yes, like all sexual deviants, he now wants his own mother to let him go because he’s no longer concerned with the evil he wanted to be freed from just a few lines earlier. And with his connection to his own mother extenuated to the breaking point, he finally identifies the sinister character involved in his spiritual decimation, declaring that “Beelzebub,” yes, that Beelzebub, “has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me,” as the music climaxes.

This is the “we” that had been foreshadowed above when his band sang “we will not let you go.”

It’s Satan and his demons. And guess what? Mercury’s fine with this, and so, apparently, are his band mates, along with everyone who worked behind the scenes with Queen. Everyone.

Stay tuned for the breakdown of the second part of this tragic song that has now deluded two generations of youth in Christendom. The story gets a lot better… worse actually, as Mercury’s health deteriorates and he mourns “at the last,” knowing full-well what awaits him, “when thy flesh and thy body are consumed.” (Proverbs 5:11)

“Bohemian Rhapsody” was never meant to be the anthem for the gay movement, rather a warning against disobedience. Every last word of it, straight from Freddie’s pen.