I'm a Leo.

I like to roar.

Hear me.

Hear me roar.

About nothing.

A roaring nothing.

A roaring nothing roaring about nothing.

Kafka wrote in his diary:

4 December. To die would mean nothing else than to surrender a nothing to the nothing, but that would be impossible to conceive, for how could a person, even only as a nothing, consciously surrender himself to the nothing, and not merely to an empty nothing but rather to a roaring nothing whose nothingness consists only in its incomprehensibility

Roar!