In a television landscape oversaturated with soundtracks meant to heighten tension or amplify heroism, MobLand did something different. It quieted the chaos. As the Paramount+ series closed out its brutal first season, fans were left haunted not just by the bloodshed, but by the unmistakable voice of Johnny Cash crooning “The Beast In Me”—a melancholic hymn that became the unlikely emotional centerpiece of the finale.

Titled after the very song it features, episode 10, “The Beast In Me,” sees the Harrigan/Stevenson conflict come to a violently conclusive end. London’s criminal underworld is irrevocably changed, bodies are left in the wake of betrayal and revenge, and the Harrigans emerge the unchallenged rulers of the city’s guns and drugs empire. But amid the narrative’s carnage, the soulful growl of Cash’s voice rings through, bookending the episode’s two most devastating sequences.

It first plays as Harry Da Souza, MobLand’s enigmatic and loyal enforcer, collects Kevin after the latter has just murdered Alan Rusby—a longtime tormentor. As Harry’s associates clean the crime scene, Cash’s words float over the slow-motion montage like a benediction and a curse. It plays again as the episode closes, laying bare the cost of Harry’s meticulous plan: corpses, empty homes, and a dynasty of crime left standing on the rubble of shattered morality.

Written by English musician Nick Lowe and recorded by Johnny Cash in 1994, “The Beast In Me” is more than a song—it’s a confession. Lowe, who was once married to Cash’s stepdaughter Carlene Carter, penned the lyrics with a searing introspection. Cash, who struggled publicly with addiction and self-destruction, turned it into a personal anthem. In MobLand, it becomes prophecy.

The lyrics, raw and deliberate, speak of the darkness hiding in plain sight within every man. “The beast in me / Is caged by frail and fragile bars,” Cash sings, evoking the fragility of human restraint. This sentiment echoes through the episode’s central characters—especially Harry and Kevin.

Harry has always been soft-spoken, deliberate, and deeply loyal. But when pressed, he becomes a weapon, a man who kills with the same calm precision with which he folds his napkin. His beast is conditional—awakened by duty to the Harrigans and buried again under the weight of guilt and silence. His violence is transactional, but no less devastating.

Kevin, on the other hand, undergoes a transformation that suggests his beast has been biding its time. Years of abuse and shame at the hands of Rusby erupt in one decisive act of murder. But unlike Harry, Kevin does not return to normal. In killing Rusby, Kevin unleashes a part of himself that might never sleep again. He is reborn in blood, no longer a pawn but a predator. If season two explores Kevin’s rise, this moment—and this song—marks his origin story.

MobLand has never shied away from moral ambiguity, but with this finale, it sinks deeper into the shadows. The use of “The Beast In Me” reframes violence not as spectacle, but as inheritance. These men were not born monsters; they were made, shaped by trauma, loyalty, and necessity.

The ratings reflect the show’s growing cultural footprint. With an 8.4/10 on IMDb and a Rotten Tomatoes audience score of 76%, MobLand has carved a niche as one of streaming’s grittiest crime sagas. And now, with this finale, it has found its anthem—not a triumphant march, but a quiet lament.

“The beast in me / Is waiting patiently,” Cash warns.