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I suspect if Poe’s imp ever sang a song, it’d be pretty close to OK Computer’s “Climbing Up the Walls”:
But out of this our cloud upon the precipice's edge, there grows into palpability, a shape, far more terrible than any genius or any demon of a tale, and yet it is but a thought, although a fearful one, and one which chills the very marrow of our bones with the fierceness of the delight of its horror. It is merely the idea of what would be our sensations during the sweeping precipitancy of a fall from such a height.
- Poe, “The Imp of the Perverse”