Men with an apple in place of their heads

I could smell the piercing, wild smell of the smoke
The young men were singing
Like it was choir practice.
My visions were like a dog's
Black and white, and bleak and made no sense.
The singing was louder, it was moving towards me
I waited and ran into the train, and the train started
The boys, still singing, sat in front of me.
I would remember them getting up at their stop
They had sung all through their journey
And they would keep singing.
When they got down, the color came back into my eyes.
But I never saw their faces.