I've been to more countries than you'll ever see.
I've been to church every Sunday.
I've been folded, pressed, even stuffed inside leather.
I've been dreamt about, coveted, and fought over.
People want me, yet despise me.
I have no true purpose except to travel.
I have no true mission in life except to be given and taken.
I have no true identity since I am but a clone.
I have no true name since I bear only the names of others.
People see my face and see another's face as well.
I am life to some.
I am death to others.
I am common as grass.
I am sometimes as rare as the perfect sunset.
People rely on me more than almost anything else.
What am I?