Butcher's Son

I wear a mask molded from clay.
I walked on my shoes until the edges frayed.
Alone, I've cast from my home; Give in to the wonderer.
My whole purpose is deceived. I am no employee of god,
but I swear to you this, I will see her again.
So hold tightly to this manifestation.
I will surrender my gold in the return for the patience of a loyal friend,
the accomplice to the slight in my hand.
I am your hope. Bearing gifts, altering alters.