For years, fans had drawn battle lines. Dylan — the poet laureate of America, the voice of rebellion. Diamond — the crooner, the stadium-filling showman. They were different, too different, many claimed. And though they had crossed paths in the 1970s, their worlds never quite aligned.

But on a warm summer evening in Newport, history shifted. Dylan was midway through a set when he suddenly paused, squinting at the crowd, then at the wings of the stage. “Got an old friend here,” he muttered, his voice gravelly. “Let’s see if he remembers the words.”

Neil Diamond walked out, guitar in hand, the audience roaring in disbelief. The two men, once compared but rarely connected, shook hands in silence. Then Neil leaned into the mic: “They said we were rivals. But really, we were just trying to write the same truth.”

The song began — a new composition, never before heard. Its title appeared later on the setlist: “The Last Word.” The lyrics were raw, almost confessional. Dylan sang of roads taken and regrets left behind. Neil countered with lines about stadium lights, the loneliness behind applause. Together, they built a dialogue in harmony, two Americas speaking to each other at last.

At one point, Dylan’s voice faltered, and Neil’s steady baritone filled the gap. At another, Neil forgot a line, and Dylan laughed, improvising a rhyme. The crowd didn’t care. They were witnessing a conversation decades in the making.

The final chorus ended with both men singing in unison: “The last word isn’t fame, it isn’t gold, it’s the song that survives when the night grows cold.”

The arena fell into silence before erupting into applause so fierce it shook the rafters. Dylan tipped his hat. Neil clasped his hands in prayer.

Later, Dylan was asked what made him invite Diamond that night. He shrugged. “We had words once. Tonight, we had a song.”

Fans left the festival knowing they had witnessed something sacred — not a rivalry, but a reconciliation.

And for Neil Diamond and Bob Dylan, “The Last Word” was exactly that: a reminder that even legends need closure, and sometimes the truest peace comes not in conversation, but in music.