Answer:
So cold, damp and dark this place. To stay you would refrain, yet those who occupy this place do never complain.
I bubble and laugh and spit water in your face. I am no lady, and I don't wear lace.
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.
I'm the source of all emotion, but I'm caged in a white prison.
I am always in front of you, but you will never see me. What am I?
What is always coming but never arrives?