Living Room War

[Verse 1]
Three brothers, one room—then the sofa cushions fly,
“World War Three!” “I’m a bomb!” “Dad!”—and nobody knows why.
Johannes draws the battle plans, nearly sixteen, in command,
Till Even steals a car toy—“DAD! He took it!”—there goes the plan.
Erik grins, “You’re not the boss,” then plays the angel act,
“I was only joking!”—his favorite way to start an attack.

[Chorus]
Johannes, Erik, Even—best friends till there’s something to steal,
They build a castle, break a wall, then make a treaty deal.
Dad walks in: “What happened here?” “NOTHING!”—cushions everywhere,
Three little generals, one living room, and war declared.

[Verse 2]
Erik’s finishing primary school, black belt in pushing buttons,
Even’s in second grade, loud enough to shake the cushions.
One flying pillow takes the fortress down in seconds flat,
“Let’s build some more!” says Even, while the others stare at that.
Phones charged, PS5 on—“My turn!” “You played yesterday!”
Dad reaches for the power switch; “Please don’t turn it off!”

[Bridge]
“Even started it!” “Erik told me to!”
“Who built a bunker by the fridge?” “That’s classified.”
They roast each other daily, but if one brother’s in a fight,
All three stand together—loud as ever, shoulder to shoulder tight.

[Outro]
Dad: “Please play nicely.” “Yes, Dad.” Three seconds: “THAT’S MINE!”
Then, “Dad, Even locked us out!”—so much for quiet time.