It's oxymoronic How you and I and everyone we know or could ever conceive is mostly full of empty space Full of empty It's hard to believe, but sometimes it's not Occasionally you can feel it Like when you take a blow to your stomach all too fast Or a blow to your heart from remembering your past Full of empty But if it's true How do I have the stuff in me to love you? When I give you my everything, am I giving you nothing? Does my matter even matter? Full of empty Physically we are composed of gaps between subatomic particles Emotionally we are composed of gaps between ourselves and another Mentally we are composed of the gaps between our neurons Spiritually we are composed of the gaps between us and what we believe in That gap is empty Yet we're there Filling it up With how much we care It's oxymoronic But we're full of empty We're simply complex