You're giving too much power to language as a way of structuring lived experience. While there may be some support for a weak version of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, minds are more flexible than language, as can be shown both by a theoretical argument from necessity, and a lot of empirical counterexamples.
There was a time when language did not exist. So a priori, the development of the first language--whatever it was, however it formed--and for it to subsequently grow, means that the set of concepts expressible in "language" must have expanded at some point. Since there is a necessary precedent for adding new concepts into what a language can express, then there is no reason to believe that existing languages set impenetrable boundaries on what we can perceive and feel.
To be more concrete, we know that novelty is a universal feature of languages today, which are always adding new words for both new (and old) concepts. The word "potato" did not exist in English prior to contact between the indigenous peoples of Europe and the Taino; but English-speaking people can nonetheless comprehend what a potato is. Language grew to accommodate new experiences. Now you might not find this convincing--maybe the reason English uses "potato" with so few changes is that we are still somehow imprisoned by the original word-symbol. But that can't be so, for two reasons: first, French calls it a pomme de terre or "earth-apple", and so isn't bound by the original sound; and second, the English word originally referred to what we now call the sweet potato--meaning that the boundaries originally imposed by language are capable of shifting. This is just one instance of the way languages change all the time.
For another example, consider word roots used in novel constructions. We have a device that keeps food cold; we call it a "refrigerator"--even though on its roots, that ought to be "a thing that makes something cold again". The image we carry in our heads is more precise than the parts which make up the word. The object, at some point, did not exist; once it did, we created new words to describe it, but the concept is not defined by or limited by the literal meanings of the words we choose to use to express it.
And I don't think I need to bother giving any of the countless examples of slang that every generation of teenagers has invented.
There are eight word classes in English: noun, adjective, pronoun, verb, adverb, preposition, conjunction, interjection. They seem to be enough. One can name a thing (car), its attribute (yellow) and what it is doing (is moving) etc.
Sure. And other languages have more or fewer categories, and may draw the lines differently. But the word-categories are imposed by linguists analyzing the language, not fastidiously followed by the speakers. For as long as we've been recording language, we find instances where words from one category are used to mean something from another category. Thought and expression are more flexible than imposed rules.
On the other hand, we have conceptual distinctions that may not be recognized by language categories. If I say "I broke the window with a hammer," you'll understand hammer to be a tool, an instrument. If I say "I broke the window with Jim," you'll understand Jim to be an accomplice, a fellow agent. If I say "I broke the window with a hammer and Jim," you'll probably be quite confused, because it feels wrong to mix things from two different conceptual categories this way, even though the rules of English grammar don't forbid it.
Concrete nouns serve to name material objects. But how should I address material objects I cannot perceive through my senses?
Well, Murray Gell-Mann and George Zweig called them "quarks"... When a word is lacking, we repurpose an old one or make up a new one.
Or how should I address abstract nouns that do not exist to name phenomena nobody has ever noticed?
We have many words for abstract nouns. Words are incomplete, of course, for the precise details that we can feel or perceive in a particular experience; but that's the struggle of the poet--to come up with words that evoke a feeling with more precision than its mere name, that distinguish one sunset from another.
If you're the first to discover a phenomenon, and it's one that others can see, you'll decide to call it something. Maybe you'll call it "magnetism" after the name of the region where you found the rocks that exhibit it. Maybe you'll call it "electricity" because you observed it in electrum, amber.
On the other hand, plenty of people perceive phenomena that others cannot; while these experiences are hard to express, we find words to express them nonetheless. One such word might be scintillating scotoma--which word I did not know until I'd been seeing them for quite a while; or the rich vocabulary used to describe different kinds of hallucinations, whether by the medical community or in some cases by the people themselves.
I want to make a quip that it's unusual for any language to have words for phenomena that nobody has ever experienced--but the unicorn and the dragon disagree with me. Perhaps it'd be better to say that languages don't have words for phenomena that nobody has yet experienced or even imagined--but even then, we come up with abundant vocabulary whenever we do discover new ones.