I cannot be felt, seen or touched;
Yet I can be found in everybody;
My existence is always in debate;
Yet I have my own style of music.
What Am I?

I'm full of air but can't breathe. What am I?

Gleam, glitter, glow,

They're moving very slow,

Sometimes on a smooth surface,

Often searching they\'re way down,

Between hunderds of obstacles,

They can be seen in every town,

Always moving and searching their way,

Again and again, everyday,

They merge and seperate with their species all the time,

And they can also be found, in this little rhyme.