Front and center, the face's lead, Smells abound, the scent I read, Tissue's call, when I bleed.

Turn me and doors give way, tap me and music starts to play. Press me and letters fall in line, find me and answers suddenly shine.

Of flying horses, I'm the beginning Of city in Canada, I am the end When camping outside, I'm used for pinning tents to the ground, as is the trend

First four: stink, mire in piles. Three more: period, longest of whiles. Captives encaged; Proud ruins, defiled

Maybe a tree part Maybe a long nose Maybe storage for cars Maybe used to move clothes What am I?