Turbulence Zone

It's just a zone of turbulence, I know
And yet, it kind of bothers me a bit
Though nothing I would publicly admit
It's just a zone of turbulence, I know

Our mind is a peculiar device
The more we chase a thought, the more it sticks
As if to pull our leg, as if for kicks
Our mind is a peculiar device

A sticky little thought, an awkward question
And what if time was counted, by the minute
For this winged tin and everybody in it?
A sticky little thought, an awkward question

What would you do in those remaining moments?
Whom would you think about? Whom would you call?
Cursing the rise, preparing for the fall...
What would you do in those remaining moments?

Not many options, actually - none
No time to catch up, straighten or complete
Before this quick and ultimate defeat
Not many options, actually - none

I grip my seat and hope it doesn't show
It's just a zone of turbulence, I know